Returning to Life
by Emijier
Summary: AU PostGoF James is alive. Contains a lot of horrible cliches. Chapter Nine: Sarcastic Snake Things and Revelations: Harry meets a new acquaintance, if it can be called that, and James finally learns some things about his son's past. Rating to be safe.
1. James, Moony, and a Full Moon Night

**Chapter One **_by Morsmordre_

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A/N: I deleted the first six chapters and reposted them as two. At least, I'm doing that right now… Yeah, James is alive. I know, so cliché, but I like it that way. Anyway, as you can tell from my summary and what's next to "Chapter One" at the top of this page that this is by Morsmordre, NOT Justin-Tim-E or Clara.

* * *

James Potter smiled down at his son, Harry Potter. Harry was just a one-year-old baby, but he could tell Harry would be very smart when he grew up. He (Harry, that is) had inherited his mother's green eyes and his father's messy black hair. 

"Aw, he's so cute!" Lily squealed. She had never gotten over the cuteness of her baby, much to James's chagrin. It was tiring to hear his wife squeal over their baby 24-7.

Suddenly there was a sound. The atmosphere of the house seemed to grow darker. And then James heard it—footsteps.

Lily heard it too, and she paled visibly, clutching Harry, who was in his basket, to her chest.

There was a sort of roaring sound in James's ears, signaling that his brain was going into overdrive (whatever that means). And then he could only hear one name, one word, echoing in his eardrums…

_Peter._

So he had done it. He had gone to Voldemort.

To look on the bright side, at least James knew who the spy was…

_On the bright side???_ screamed a little voice inside his head. _You call _that_ a _bright side, _when you're going to be killed because of him???_

James shook his head to shoo away the little voice. "Lily, take Harry and go!" he shouted, fear making his voice escalate up a few hundred or so decibels (OK, that was a bit of an exaggeration). "It's him! Go! Run! I'll hold him off—"

Frightened but determined, Lily nodded, kissed James quickly, grabbed Harry, and stumbled out of the room.

The door burst open, and there stood Voldemort. He laughed, a cruel, cold, high-pitched laugh that echoed and bounced off the walls of the little house. James reached for his wand.

"So…" Voldemort sneered. "How touching. You're going to save your family."

_Damn right I will, _James thought fiercely, and shot a curse at Voldemort, who reflected it with a lazy flick of his wand.

"Potter," Voldemort drawled, not unlike Lucius Malfoy, "if you get out of the way I might let you live. It's your son I want, not you or your Mudblood wife."

Anger coursed through James like a current of water in the ocean, fighting to get out. "Never!" he shouted, and sent another curse barreling toward Voldemort, who reflected it again just as easily.

"Then you'll have to die," Voldemort said, and raised his wand.

But just before he sent the _Avada Kedavra _spell at James, he smiled a nasty smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "No, I might have other uses for you… _Hellophorus_!" (A/N: This is a spell I made up.)

That was the last thing James Potter heard before he blacked out.

* * *

James Potter opened his eyes, but there was no difference.

There was no sunshine at all. Wherever he was (and he was lying down), it was completely and utterly dark.

James reached his hand up—and hit something hard. He pounded, but there was a sound in his ears and nothing was happening. He couldn't hear anything, except for the dulled muffled sound of his fists banging on the smooth hard surface above him… whatever it was.

James stopped after his fists felt like bleeding, and groaned softly to himself. What had happened? All he remembered was Voldemort coming to kill Harry, and him saying a spell—something like "Hello for us" or something, put together quickly.

Were Lily and Harry alright? Probably not. James knew Lily well enough to know she would never step aside and let Voldemort kill Harry just to spare her own life. So Voldemort would have killed her, and then killed Harry…

It was painful just to think about it. And _where was he_???

James tried again, but after at least ten minutes of hitting the… hard surface… above him, there was no difference at all.

Suddenly James remembered. He could just Apparate! To Potter Manor, or where Remus Lupin, one of his best friends, lived.

James tried as hard as he could to Apparate, but nothing happened. He was probably being held prisoner by Voldemort or something. What else could Voldemort have meant when he said "I might have other uses for you?"

James groaned and nearly screamed, but his voice was too hoarse and hurt too much to scream.

What was he going to do?

* * *

Remus Lupin looked up at the clock hanging by the door of one of the many rooms at Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place. It read 5:37 PM. It was steadily growing darker, even though it was summer, and at any minute it would be full moon (the moon was up early).

It was a dreary summer night. Fortunately, Remus had the Wolfsbane potion that Snape had reluctantly made for him (to keep him from becoming a monster… not anything to do with the dreary summer night). Any minute now…

As soon as the thought had entered his mind, Remus felt a dull ache in his bones. Then his limbs ached. His body writhed and contorted, his jaws lengthened, hair sprouted all over his body (etc, etc, etc).

After the transformation was complete, the werewolf felt something strange in the back of his mind. Then he heard it: a familiar voice.

And before he knew what he was doing, the wolf raced out of the dreary house. He didn't know where he was going; all he knew was that he couldn't help going there… wherever _there _was.

He raced down the deserted streets, careful to keep in the shadows. As he leapt out of a shadow to cross a street, a girl who had been walking down the same street screamed, but he paid her no attention. He needed to get there… to the place that his feet (er… paws) were taking him.

He ran for so long that his whole body ached and begged him to stop, but he didn't. He just kept going.

Finally, the wolf reached his destination. It was…

_Godric's Hollow?!_

Why was he there?

He started running again… this time towards James and Lily's graves.

Then, before he could think about what he was doing, the wolf put his paws on the ground.

And started to dig.

This went on for hours… it was very hard to dig open a grave with your bare hands… or paws. But finally, the coffin of James Potter was revealed in the gaping hole.

There was a banging sound coming from it.

The werewolf nudged the lid… and it opened.

There lay James Potter, rubbing his eyes, looking as alive as he had fourteen years ago on that fateful Halloween night.

"Moony?" James whispered, sitting up (this looked like it took a great deal of effort) and rubbing his eyes. "Of course… it's full moon… where's Voldemort? What about Lily and Harry? Did he kill them?"

Being in his werewolf form, of course, Remus couldn't answer. He just sat there and stared at his friend… one of his best friends, who had been dead for fourteen years, who was now sitting up in his coffin, his mind left behind fourteen years ago.

"Oh…" James let out a groan and buried his face in his hands. He still looked about twenty, not in his thirties like he would have been if he hadn't died.

Remus wanted to shout, to celebrate the fact that his other best friend was alive after all, or at least to say _Harry's not dead! He's alive! _But there was nothing he could do except to sit there and stare at James.

Hours passed. James Potter crawled out of the coffin and fell asleep next to the mound of earth that had come up when Moony had dug up James Potter's grave.

The moon waned, and slowly, Remus Lupin returned to normal. He woke up and saw James next to him, asleep, his chest rising and falling. He was obviously alive.

"James," Remus hissed, shaking his friend. "James. Wake up."

James groaned and rolled over, then sat up. "Moony?" he whispered. "You're there? I—ouch!"

Remus had grabbed James and pulled him into a rib-cracking hug. Then he stood back and stared at James. "You're alive," he finally said.

"Uh… yeah." James looked down at the coffin. "I guess Voldemort put some spell on me that wasn't _Avada Kedavra _but made everyone think I was dead, huh?"

"This is a miracle," Remus muttered to himself. Then out loud, he asked, "What spell did he use?"

James searched his memory. "Uh… I think he said 'Hello for us' or something."

"Hello for us… of course… _Hellophorus_…" Remus muttered to himself.

"What's that? I've never heard of it," James said. "And…" he hesitated. "What about Lily and Harry?"

Wordlessly, Remus pointed to the grave next to James's. James turned his head slowly.

_Lily Marie Evans Potter_… James couldn't see anymore through his tears. "Lily's gone…" he managed to say, wiping his face, "and Harry's gone too… where's Harry's grave?"

"Look on the bright side," Remus offered, helping James up with a sad look on his face. "Harry's alive, and he's turning fifteen soon."

"Like that's a bright side…" James froze and turned to look up at Remus. "Wait a minute… did I just hear you say what I thought you said?"

Remus smiled slightly. "Harry's alive, and he's turning fifteen soon," he repeated.

A look of shock and joy passed over James's face. "Harry's alive? How did he survive Voldemort?" Then he remembered the last part of what Remus had said. _"I've been in this coffin for fourteen years???"_

Remus nodded. "I think we should let Dumbledore know before we tell you the whole story. The Order will want to know."

"The Order of the Phoenix is still around…" James murmured. Then he looked up at Remus, the expression on his face unreadable. "It's good to see you again, Moony."

Remus couldn't help grinning. "Same to you, Prongs."

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A/N: So, I just rewrote a few little parts. What do you think? Please read and review!!! 


	2. Nothing Ever Shocks Dumbledore, Really

**Chapter Two **_by Morsmordre_

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A/N: Here's the second chapter of the rewrite. ;) Let's keep our fingers crossed that all the chapter seven reviews and stuff stay, hmm? ;) REVIEW!!!

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Albus Dumbledore was sitting in his office, pondering on Voldemort's resurrection. He had tried to convince the Wizengamot and other people at the Ministry of Magic that Voldemort was back, but some had simply laughed at him, and others (such as Cornelius Fudge, Minister of Magic,) had declared that he was trying to cause trouble and trashed him in the _Daily Prophet_.

Suddenly the fire in his office glowed green and two figures tumbled out of it: Remus Lupin and… was that _James Potter_???

"Hello, Professor," Remus greeted Albus Dumbledore. "It turns out James is alive after all."

Dumbledore smiled and shook his head. "How many times do I have to tell you, Remus, it's Albus. I am no longer your teacher."

Remus smiled slightly. "Well, old habits are hard to break, I guess. And let me repeat, James Potter is alive."

Dumbledore stared at the man standing next to Remus Lupin. He certainly did look a great deal like James Potter. Perhaps that really was him.

"Are you positive?" Dumbledore questioned sharply, looking over his half-moon spectacles at the man.

"Quite positive," Remus answered.

The man—James Potter—smiled at Dumbledore weakly.

"In that case, welcome back to life, James," Dumbledore replied calmly. (James shook his head. "I always knew nothing could shock him.") Then to Remus, he (Dumbledore, that is) said, "Tell me what happened."

Remus explained the whole situation, which took a while. When he had finally finished, Dumbledore inspected the two men again.

"You have been through a great ordeal, James," he said finally. "Has Remus told you about the Order of the Phoenix?"

"He mentioned it," James finally spoke up. "And when do I get to see Harry?" he demanded. "Where is he living? With Sirius?"

"He is living with his aunt and uncle, his last living relatives," Dumbledore told him. "The Dursleys."

"WHAT???" James roared, jumping up from where he had been sitting next to Remus. He was no longer looking weak and dazed. Now he just looked angry. "They hate magic, and they hated Lily and me! You know that!" He pointed an accusing finger at Dumbledore.

"I shall explain everything about that later," was all Dumbledore would say about that matter. "Now I think Remus should update you with information about what has happened over the past fourteen years while you were gone."

James glanced at Dumbledore, and then at Remus, who nodded. Heaving a sigh, James sat back down.

"OK," Remus began, heaving his own sigh as well. This would take a while. "It's like this…"

After Remus finished his explanation, James sat, stunned, staring at him. Finally he managed to say, "Sirius was locked up in Azkaban for something Peter did?"

Remus sighed and nodded. "Twelve years."

"I'm going to kill him!" James snarled, clenching his fists. He immediately began thinking what exactly he would like to do with that rat—until he remembered that Dumbledore and Remus were still in the room. He glanced at Dumbledore sheepishly. "Er, sorry, Professor."

Dumbledore smiled sadly at him. "I can understand your anger."

"That's the understatement of the century," James mumbled, but softly so that Dumbledore couldn't hear him.

"Now I think Remus should go and tell Sirius about this at Order headquarters," Dumbledore continued. "Otherwise he might be too shocked. After all, to everyone else you have simply arisen from the dead."

"I guess…" James muttered.

"I'll see you soon," Remus said to him. He picked up a handful of Floo powder, tossed it into the fire, and called out, "Order of the Phoenix Headquarters!" Then with a _whoosh _he was gone.

* * *

Sirius Black looked up from where he was seated—in a chair at Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place. Remus Lupin, his best friend, had just stumbled out of the fireplace.

"Hi, Moony," Sirius said, looking up from the _Daily Prophet _that he was reading.

Remus looked at him for a moment and then said, "Are you sure you're sitting down? Because this will come as a real shock to you."

Sirius put down the newspaper. "What," he said flatly. It wasn't a question. "Did Voldemort murder Dumbledore?"

"Well, you could at least sound a little sadder about it," Remus remarked. Seeing the look on Sirius's face, he backtracked quickly. "No, that didn't happen. I'm just saying, if it did, you could look a little sadder about it."

"Then what happened?" Sirius was more interested now.

"Do you promise not to attack anyone in Dumbledore's office, even if you think he's a Death Eater in disguise?"

"Promise."

"Swear to me."

"I swear on Wormtail," Sirius said.

"Wormtail isn't worth much to you, so it doesn't really matter."

"My God, I swore already," Sirius muttered. "Isn't that good enough for you?"

"OK, OK," Remus apologized. "Sorry."

"It's OK,," Sirius shrugged. "So are we going to Dumbledore's office?"

"Yes, I can explain everything there." Remus pulled out a handful of Floo powder, and tossed it in the fireplace. "Let's go."

So they did.

When Sirius stepped out of the fireplace after Remus, he drew his breath in sharply. That couldn't be…

_James???_

"Padfoot!" James threw himself at Sirius and nearly crushed his ribs in a hug.

"Owwwwwwww!" Sirius complained, but he was grinning. He glanced at Remus, who was smiling.

"How—? What—?" Sirius glanced at Dumbledore, who was smiling. "James is alive???"

"You idiot," said James, grinning too. "That's what they call walking and talking and breathing and such."

"How are you alive?" Sirius very much wanted to know. "I thought Voldemort killed you fourteen years ago."

"Well…" Remus began. "It's like this…"

After Remus finished his very long explanation, Sirius blinked a few times and then turned to James. "But what _was _that spell Voldemort put on you?"

Dumbledore cleared his throat, and everyone turned to him expectantly. "It was invented by Voldemort," Dumbledore explained. "It's called the Freezing Charm, and _Hellophorus _is the incantation…"

* * *

"So it's the Freezing Charm. It freezes a person's body," Sirius repeated Dumbledore's words slowly. This was an awful lot for an escaped convict to take in for one day: that his dead best friend was really alive, and learning about a complex curse invented by the most evil wizard on the face of the earth.

"Right," Remus agreed. "It's a lot like _Avada Kedavra_—only instead of killing the person, it freezes the person's internal organs so they stop like the person was dead. The person stays in a coma until the caster of the spell awakens him, and if the caster dies, the victim dies as well."

"So Voldemort awakened you?" Sirius looked at James, then back at Dumbledore. "Why?"

"It may have something to do with his resurrection," Dumbledore mused, more to himself than to any of the other men in the room.

"Resurrection?" James leapt out of his chair again, knocking it over once more. His two best friends winced slightly. James could be as scary as Lily when he was really angry. "What do you mean, resurrection?" he continued suspiciously. "You never told me anything about a resurrection."

"I think Harry should be the one to tell you, seeing as he was there to witness it," was all Dumbledore would reply.

OK, now James was _really _furious. "WHAT DO YOU MEAN, HARRY WITNESSED VOLDEMORT'S RESURRECTION???" he roared.

Remus and Sirius both flinched, before Remus barked, "James! Shut up and sit down and let Dumbledore finish!"

James glared at Remus before sitting down and heaving a sigh. "Continue."

"Did I explain why Harry didn't die that night?" Dumbledore asked.

James shook his head.

**(Enter Dumbledore's explanation because I'm too lazy to type it.) **

"So Lily died to protect Harry?" James almost-whispered. "That sounds like Lily. She would do that."

"She did," Remus said in a rather strained tone of voice.

"So what happened to Voldemort to make him have to be resurrected?" James wondered aloud.

**(Enter Dumbledore's second explanation—jeez, he has to explain a lot of things, doesn't he? No wait—don't answer that; that was a rhetorical question.)**

"So Harry defeated Voldemort?" James shook his head. "When he was one year old?"

"Partly," Sirius, who had been quiet for quite some time, spoke up. "But Voldemort just lost his body; his spirit was still there, hiding somewhere. And he got his body back about a month ago."

"So there's going to be a second war…" James sighed. "Does Harry know about the prophecy?"

The look on Dumbledore's face confirmed his worst fears. "You didn't tell him?" James whispered, more to himself than to Dumbledore.

"He's not old enough to know," Dumbledore defended his actions.

"He's fifteen, for Merlin's sake!" James snapped, annoyed. "When I was fifteen I—" he broke off and glanced at Sirius, then Remus. They both nodded.

"—became an Animagus," James finished, looking down at the floor.

"Yes, Sirius told me about that," Dumbledore said, smiling. "Quite an accomplishment for a fifteen-year-old."

"Three," James mumbled. He remembered Peter, and white-hot rage soared through him. "Where's W—Pettigrew? Is he still alive?"

Sirius and Remus both looked at each other, then at Dumbledore. "I think you'd better let Harry explain that," Remus finally said.

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A/N: OK, I'm done with the reposting! Like I said, let's keep our fingers crossed that the reviews don't disappear… (hint, hint) Please review!!! 


	3. Dementors Suck, Literally

**A/N:** Harry is attacked by four dementors (instead of two)—only there's a catch: They weren't sent by Umbridge…

**Chapter Three** _by Morsmordre_

Harry Potter was not in a good mood.

Of course, he normally wasn't in a good mood when he was living with the Dursleys. Today, the Dursleys (or rather, Aunt Petunia) had made him scrub out the whole house. Now that it was evening, Harry was finally done, but of course he was very tired from the whole thing.

Harry was sitting in his Aunt Petunia's flowerbed, listening to the six o'clock news from outside. It was a cool evening, and the moon was up early. Seeing the full moon reminded Harry slightly of his former Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, Remus Lupin. Harry wondered where he (Professor Lupin, that is) was and how he was doing.

"—crazy gangsters, the lot of them—" Harry overheard a snitch of conversation coming from the living room to the flowerbed, where he was crouched. It was his Uncle Vernon's voice. "They're all just hoodlums—"

Harry snorted. It was just like Uncle Vernon to overlook the fact that his own son, Dudley Dursley, was a hoodlum himself.

"Why are they even bothering to tell us these things?" Aunt Petunia's voice sniffed. "Why would we be interested in movie stars' petty affairs?"

Harry snorted again, thinking about all the time his aunt spent reading gossip magazines and spying on the neighbors. _What a bunch of hypocrites. _

Harry thought about his two friends, Ron and Hermione. Their letters he had received were all short and to-the-point:

Ron: _Mate, I know this is annoying, having letters sent to you that don't mean anything, but we can't tell you anything. Dumbledore made us promise. We're OK, hope the Muggles don't give you much trouble… _Blah blah blah.

Hermione: _Harry, I know this must be frustrating, but Professor Dumbledore made us promise not to tell you anything. I'm sorry about this, but you'll find out what this is all about soon, and I'll see you again later. I hope you're OK, we're fine here… _Harry was plain sick of it.

He was the bloody Boy-Who-Lived! He was the one who had witnessed Voldemort's resurrection, and the one who the _Daily Prophet _was trashing, just because Fudge, the incompetent fool, wouldn't believe Voldemort was back! (In my story, Harry read the parts about himself being an attention-seeker and everything.)

If Harry was so important, why was Dumbledore keeping secrets from him? It was enough to make anyone tear their hair out with frustration.

CRACK! Harry was interrupted from his musing by a loud noise. Harry jumped—if he wasn't mistaken, that was the sound of someone Disapparating from Privet Drive.

Harry sat up to see who it was—only to be forced back down again by Uncle Vernon's hand.

_"Get down, boy!" _Harry's uncle hissed at him. _"What if someone sees you?" _

Harry pried his uncle's meaty paws off of him. "You're choking me!" he hissed back.

"What in the name of dickens was that?" Uncle Vernon snarled, his face apoplectic with rage.

"It wasn't me!" Harry snarled back angrily, his fists clenched. "I don't know who that was!"

"What—have—we—told—you—about—that—freakishness?!" Uncle Vernon was practically spitting, he was so angry. "We—will—not—tolerate—that—here!"

"It wasn't me!" Harry repeated angrily, but Uncle Vernon didn't seem to want to listen.

Harry watched as the neighbors finally lost interest and turned away from their windows and fences. Uncle Vernon shot Harry a final glare before turning back to the living room to watch TV.

"Where's Dudley?" Harry heard Uncle Vernon ask.

"At the Polkisses' house, having tea," was Aunt Petunia's response. "He's so popular, he has so many friends," she added fondly.

Harry snorted for what had to be the third time that day. Did his aunt seriously believe Dudley was having tea? He definitely wasn't—hanging around the park with his gang and bullying little kids, more like.

Harry got up from the flowerbed once he found it was clear that he wasn't going to get any important information from the Muggle TV news. He walked out of the garden and down the street. He saw a few people peering out at him curiously, but ignored it. The Dursleys had told everyone that he went to St. Brutus's Secure Center for Incurably Criminal Boys, or something like that, so Harry was pretty sure that was why the neighbors were looking at him. Besides, Harry was used to the staring.

As Harry walked to the park, his mind focused on Sirius Black, his godfather. Sirius had been put in Azkaban for something he didn't do and was there for twelve years before escaping. Now he was off in hiding with a would-have-been executed hippogriff, if it weren't for the fact that Harry and one of his best friends, Hermione Granger, hadn't rescued the hippogriff to rescue Sirius.

_I know all your friends have sent you pointless letters, and I'm sorry, but my letter will be pointless, too: Keep your wand with you at all times, and don't do anything rash—we'll send someone to get you sometime, once Dumbledore agrees._

Harry had been just as frustrated with Sirius's letter as he had been with Ron's and Hermione's—what was everyone talking about? It was clear something big had happened, and no one was going to tell him what it was about. (A/N: I know I promised not to put author's notes in the middle of chapter because it's annoying, but I have to clear this up: I'm not talking about James coming back to life, because that hasn't happened yet—it's happening right now (because of the whole entire full moon thing). I'm talking about the Order of the Phoenix.)

Harry couldn't help wondering what it (the big thing that happened, I mean) was, and as he walked toward the park, he also couldn't help feeling as if someone was watching him. It was kind of like the feeling before second year with Dobby and everything, only different. Harry wondered if someone was following him, but when he turned around, there was nothing there.

Harry got to the park and began walking around. Even though it wasn't seven yet, and it was summer, it was already beginning to get dark out. The trees were casting shadows all over the park, and a cool, light, summer breeze blew through the air.

Harry heard snatches of conversation from the other end of the park. Harry heard enough to realize that it was Dudley and his gang.

"That was awesome, Big D!" Harry heard a familiar voice say—it was Piers Polkiss, the kid with the scrawny face of a rat who had gotten Harry into trouble on Dudley's birthday, before Harry had known that he was a wizard.

Harry snickered at the nickname. _Big D?_ What kind of nickname was that?

"See ya, Big D," another voice said. There was the shuffling sound of footsteps, which Harry took to be the sound of Dudley's gang leaving.

Harry took this moment to enter the scene. "Hey, Big D!" he called, practically strutting towards his cousin.

Dudley immediately whirled around (which was no small task—considering how fat he was, it would be very hard to just immediately turn around). "What do you want?" he snapped.

"Can't a person greet his favorite cousin?" Harry knew he was annoying his cousin, and it satisfied him. Harry was really very annoyed with everyone (like Ron and Hermione and Dumbledore), even Sirius, and Dudley was an outlet for that annoyance.

"I'm your only cousin," came Dudley's nonplussed, but wary, response.

"Congratulations. How did you manage to figure that out?" Harry sneered, fingering his wand. OK, so now he was just provoking Dudley, but so? Harry was very annoyed with everyone, and this definitely helped. Considering all the time Dudley had spent tormenting him before he learned he was a wizard was just an added bonus.

Dudley sneered back. "You think you're such a big man, don't you, Potter, with your stick?"

Harry nearly laughed—this sounded so ridiculous coming from Dudley.

"But you're not brave without your stick. When you don't have your stick, you're just a coward."

Harry raised an eyebrow. This was a bit rich coming from Dudley…

"Especially at night."

Harry's eyebrow almost disappeared below his hairline. "This _is _night, Big D. That's what we call it when it gets all dark."

"No, I mean in _bed_." Dudley smirked as if he had just said something very clever.

"What do you mean, in b—" Harry never got to finish his sentence.

The air suddenly became very cold, as cold as if it were winter. At the same moment, the street was plunged into darkness.

"Wh-what did you d-do?" Dudley's voice squeaked. "I'm t-telling M-Mum that you used your y-y-you-know-what!"

"Shut up!" Harry snapped. "I didn't do anything, so just shut up and let me figure out what happened…"

But just as soon as these words left Harry Potter's mouth, he realized what exactly was happening.

The air around the two teenage boys became even colder, if possible. And Harry heard it—sharp, rattling breaths, sucking in the warm air and replacing it with freezing air. Harry would know the sound of that anywhere.

_What were dementors doing at Privet Drive?_

"St-stop it!" Dudley stammered. "Wh-what did you d-do?"

"S—" But Harry fell silent.

It appeared Dudley couldn't speak too…

Harry heard his parents' voices again.

_"Lily, take Harry and go! It's him! Go! Run! I'll hold him off—"_

_"Not Harry, not Harry, please not Harry!"_

_"Stand aside, you silly girl… stand aside now…"_

_"Not Harry, please… have mercy… have mercy…"_

Harry stumbled slightly as the voices of his dying parents filled his head.

_This is not the time to dwell on them…_

Harry faltered a bit, searching his head for a pleasant memory before the dementors could come too close. _Winning the Quidditch House Cup in third year… that has to count… _

_"Expecto patronum!" _

A silver wisp shot out of his wand and died out. The voices were screaming louder…

_Finding out I was leaving the Dursleys… _That was an older memory…

_"Expecto patronum!"_

A large silver wisp flew out of Harry's wand, but faltered. Harry could hear Dudley whimpering… at least Dudley was still safe…

_I'm going to leave the Dursleys… I'm going to see Sirius again…_

_"EXPECTO PATRONUM!"_

Prongs charged out of the end of Harry's wand. _"Lumos!" _

What Harry saw made him gasp.

Two dementors—two tall, cloaked, hooded dementors were towering over Dudley, who was clutching his massive backside, hunched over, and practically wailing. The other two dementors were being chased off at that very moment by Harry's Patronus.

"Go get them!" Harry shouted at Prongs, pointing to the dementors, one who was beginning to lower its hood. It was a sickening sight that the authoress is not going to describe.

The stag Patronus charged toward the two dementors, which both let out anguished screeches before turning and gliding away.

Dudley was now practically lying on the ground, whimpering. His face was a pale shade of white (I know that didn't sound right… ok, his face was an ashen color) and he was barely moving at all.

"Get up!" Harry hissed sharply. Dudley didn't move at all.

"Get _up_!"

"Are you all right?"

Harry jumped at the new voice and whirled around, his wand pointing at the speaker. He relaxed when he realized it was just Mrs. Figg, his old babysitter, then stiffened. Harry quickly stowed his wand in his back pants pocket.

"Don't put it away!" Mrs. Figg shrieked. "What if there are more of them around?… Oh, I'm going to _kill_ him!"

Harry blinked in shock. "What…" he stammered out.

"Don't put your wand away, there may be more dementors out," was the evasive, but firm, reply. "What if there are more dementors about? I'm going to _kill_ Mundungus Fletcher!"

Harry blinked in shock. "Y… you're a witch?"

"A Squib, and Mundungus knows that!" Mrs. Figg muttered. "I couldn't have helped you get rid of those stupid things… freeze your heart up, don't they? And you!" she added sharply, pointing at Dudley. "Get up!"

Dudley whimpered again. Mrs. Figg tugged at Dudley, but Harry knew that even Hagrid and Uncle Vernon combined probably wouldn't be able to lift his cousin.

Just then there was a loud CRACK again. The next thing Harry knew, Mrs. Figg had slapped the man who had just Apparated into Privet Drive.

"Ow, Figgy, what'chu do that for?" The man complained, dropping the package he was holding.

"Dementors! Here on Privet Drive! And all because you weren't here, Mundungus Fletcher!" Mrs. Figg shrieked.

The man's jaw dropped. "Dementors? How?"

"If Harry didn't know how to create a Patronus, what would have happened, do you think?" Mrs. Figg was nearly hysterical.

"That would've been a bit of a problem," the man named Mundungus admitted.

"Mrs. Figg, I think I'd better be going now," Harry muttered, his head still reeling from this strange turn of events.

"Yes, you can go… don't think I'm going to just let this go!" Mrs. Figg was still berating the wizard.

Harry dragged Dudley toward Number Four, Privet Drive. He (Dudley, I mean) was very pale and shaky and could barely walk himself. Harry just couldn't wait to find out how he would be reprimanded and punished, and how Aunt Petunia would react to finding her dear Dinky Diddydums like this (oh, the joy. Note the sarcasm here).

Harry took a deep breath and pushed open the door.

**A/N:** You review and I update. Got it? Good.

-Morsmordre


	4. Amber Liquid That Is Known As Butterbeer

**Chapter Four **_by Morsmordre_

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A/N: Wow… thank you so much for all of the reviews!!! And to those of you who were confused why it suddenly went down to three chapters, it's because I decided to rewrite the first six chapters and turn them into two (chapters, I mean). I also edited some parts. Now, this took a really long time because I didn't feel like writing what happened in Order of the Phoenix in my own words, but I finally did anyway. PLEASE REVIEW!!!

-Morsmordre

Anonymous Review Replies:

S. S. – Thank you for the review!!! I suppose the first few chapters were OK, but I reposted them anyway and edited some parts, and now I think it's better than before. Please review!!!

Person – Thanks! I never get tired of reviews that say things like "very good, update soon"! LOL. R&R!!!

Jenny/Jen C/Jennifer C/Jenny C/whatever you want to be called – Jeez… Thanks!!! (I'm sorry, but that's all I can think of to say…) Here's the update!

Oh, and one review on my story is from myself—I just used it to say that the author's note was supposed to be all in bold, not just the "I hope" bit. But then, I deleted the chapter that was the author's note, so… yeah. Sorry if that confused ya!

Hope you enjoy!

P.S. I have an AU story called _Starting Over in a New World_, which is about Harry and Neville winning the final battle but because everyone they love are dead, they travel to an alternate universe, one where there is no Boy-Who-Lived and one where Voldemort is still alive, to start over. Plus, my little sister, Clara, has a story called _The Marauders' First Year at Hogwarts_, and the title is pretty much self-explanatory. Just click "Morsmordre Justin-Tim-E Clara" at the top of the page to see the stories. Just thought you might like to know! ;)

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"Popkin! I was getting worried; you were taking rather long—POPKIN! What's the matter?"

Harry ducked into the house and slipped silently toward the stairs; the Dursleys—including Uncle Vernon, who had just entered the room—didn't notice him, which suited him just fine. It was better to get upstairs into his room before the Dursleys came and blamed him.

There was a retching sound and Harry winced as he heard something that sounded suspiciously like vomit hitting the floor. (A/N: Ew…)

"Vernon, he's sick! What's the matter, Popkin? Can you hear me? Dudley?"

"Dudley, what's the matter?! Did you have food poisoning?"

Harry was almost at the top of the stairs when he heard Dudley finally speak. _"Him."_

"BOY! GET BACK HERE!"

Harry winced and came down the stairs to face his furious uncle, worried aunt, and sick cousin.

"Now," Uncle Vernon growled, his face red with suppressed rage, "what did you do to Dudley?"

"Nothing," Harry responded, although he knew that Uncle Vernon would believe him about as much as he would accept food from a wizard.

Translation: He wouldn't believe Harry.

Sure enough, Uncle Vernon's mustache quivered indignantly. "Do you expect me to believe that?" he spat.

"Yes," Harry answered, knowing that he would pay for his cheek.

Surprisingly, Uncle Vernon didn't do anything but glower at him. Then, apparently deciding that he was going to make sure his son was all right first, he turned to Dudley. "Dudley, what did he do to you? Did he use his… his _thing_?"

Dudley nodded, shivering.

Uncle Vernon rounded on Harry, his mouth open and ready to shout, but he was interrupted from a BANG coming from the window nearby. A brown-and-white owl had just crashed into the window and looked extremely ruffled, and miffed as well.

"I WILL NOT TOLERATE OWLS HERE!" Uncle Vernon roared, but Harry had already walked to the window and let the owl in. The owl dropped an envelope on the countertop before flying away.

Harry ignored his uncle's rant about "effing owls," as he so kindly called them, and opened the envelope to read the letter.

_Dear Mr. Potter,_

_We have received intelligence that you performed the Patronus Charm at twenty-nine minutes past six this evening at a Muggle-inhabited area and in the presence of a Muggle._

_The severity of this breach of the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery has resulted in your expulsion from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Ministry representatives will be calling at your place of residence shortly to destroy your wand._

_As you have already received an official warning for a previous offense under Section 13 of the International Confederation of Warlocks' Statute of Secrecy, we regret to inform you that your presence is required at a disciplinary hearing at the Ministry of Magic at 9 a.m. on the twelfth of August. _

_Hoping you are well,_

_Yours sincerely,_

_Mafalda Hopkirk_

_Improper Use of Magic Office_

_Ministry of Magic_

Harry read the letter through five times, and as his emerald green eyes scanned the sheet of parchment a sixth time, he felt a numb sensation: a tightening feeling in his chest, as if an ice-cold hand was gripping his heart. He was expelled from Hogwarts, and he would never be going back.

His brain dimly registered that his uncle and aunt were now discussing something quietly, but he didn't even hear what they were saying—he could only hear their voices.

Harry clenched the letter in his fist and crumpled it into a small ball. He tightened his hold on the parchment.

"Now, I won't say this again, boy," Uncle Vernon growled, turning back to Harry. _"What did you do to Dudley?"_

"I didn't—" Harry began, but was cut off by Dudley.

_"Did," _he whispered unexpectedly.

Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon immediately rushed to his side. "Tell me, Dinky, what did he do?" Aunt Petunia asked tearfully.

It was all Harry could do to refrain from rolling his eyes.

"Pointed his… thing at me," Dudley said in a hoarse, rather high voice.

"Yeah, but I didn't use it—" Harry snapped, but he was cut off by Uncle Vernon this time.

"SHUT UP!" he snarled, and then breathed heavily before turning back to Dudley. (This looked as though it took a great deal of effort.) "Go on."

"Then… then h-he—"

A screech owl swooped into the room through the window and dropped an envelope on the floor before flying back out again.

"I WILL NOT HAVE OWLS IN THIS HOUSE!!!" Uncle Vernon glared daggers at Harry, who stared back defiantly until Uncle Vernon turned away and looked back at Dudley, urging him to continue with his story.

Harry tuned them out for a moment to read his letter. It was actually two letters in one envelope—one from Mr. Weasley and one from Sirius.

The one from Mr. Weasley read:

Harry – 

_Dumbledore's just arrived at the Ministry and he's trying to sort it all out. DO NOT LEAVE YOUR AUNT AND UNCLE'S HOUSE. DO NOT DO ANY MORE MAGIC. DO NOT SURRENDER YOUR WAND._

_-Arthur Weasley_

Dumbledore was trying to sort it all out? Did that mean there was a chance he would be let back into Hogwarts?

Harry stuffed the parchment back into the envelope and read the second letter.

_Arthur's just told us what happened. Whatever you do, don't leave the house again. _

Harry clenched his teeth in anger. Wasn't anybody going to tell him exactly what was happening, and why it seemed as though everyone were together at the same place? What about single-handedly driving off two dementors? Wasn't a single person going to say good job?

Harry crumpled Sirius's letter as well and stuffed it in his jeans pocket, just to hear Dudley recount to his (Dudley's, that is, not Harry's) parents, "Went all cold… h-heard… _things _in my… h-head…"

Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon exchanged a dark look. On the list of things they hated the most, people hearing voices was definitely near the top.

"Like what?" Aunt Petunia asked breathlessly, tears of worry in her eyes.

But Dudley shuddered and shook his head, refusing to speak.

Harry had to wonder—Dudley had led a perfect life (perfect to him—Dudley, at least), being Mama's boy and always getting what he wanted. What was Dudley's worst memory?

"So," Uncle Vernon said, rounding on Harry. "So… you made him hear… _things _in his head, did you?"

"It wasn't me!" Harry snapped, beginning to feel very irritated by now. "It was four dementors!"

"And what are these… dementor things?"

"They guard the wizard prison, Azkaban."

Harry gaped at the person who had spoken: Aunt Petunia.

"How do you know that?" Uncle Vernon demanded.

Aunt Petunia looked horribly flustered, as if she had just spouted a swear word instead of a fact. "I… I heard… that _boy _telling … her about them… y-years ago," she stammered.

Harry was, needless to say, shocked. How had his aunt grasped onto this fact and kept it for years, when she spent most of her time pretending the wizarding world didn't exist?

Just as Uncle Vernon was about to say something, a brown barn owl swooped into the room and dropped another letter on the countertop.

"ENOUGH WITH THE EFFING OWLS!!!" Uncle Vernon bellowed, his face now purple with anger.

Harry ignored him and bent down to pick up the letter.

_Dear Mr. Potter,_

_Further to our letter of approximately fourteen minutes ago, the Ministry of Magic has revised its decision to destroy your wand forthwith. You may retain your wand until your disciplinary hearing on the twelfth of August, at which time an official decision will be taken._

_Following discussions with the Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, the Ministry had agreed that the question of your expulsion will also be decided at that time. You should therefore consider yourself suspended from school pending further enquiries._

_With best wishes,_

_Yours sincerely,_

_Mafalda Hopkirk_

_Improper Use of Magic Office_

_Ministry of Magic_

Harry breathed a sigh of relief. He wasn't expelled after all. Not all of his fears and worries were gone, though… it would all come to the twelfth of August.

"What do these dementoid things do?" Uncle Vernon demanded, breaking up Harry's thoughts.

"They make you remember your worst memory," Harry replied dully. "If they get a chance, they Kiss you."

"Kiss you?" Uncle Vernon repeated, his eyes bulging slightly out of his head.

"That means they suck the soul out of your mouth."

Aunt Petunia screamed and grabbed Dudley and shook him a bit, as if that would ensure that he still had his soul. "They didn't… he still has…"

"Of course they didn't get his soul; you'd have known if they had," Harry interrupted impatiently.

"So you drove them off, did you?" said Uncle Vernon, a bit too loudly.

"Yes, they would've got his soul if I didn't use magic—"

With all the excitement (not that it was particularly exciting—just exhausting), Harry had forgotten about the Dursleys' unspoken rule.

"DO NOT USE THAT WORD IN MY HOUSE!!!" Uncle Vernon howled.

"Sorry," Harry muttered, insincerely. "I'll be going now…"

Nobody bothered to stop him as he hurried toward the stairs to get to his bedroom, where he could lie down on his bed and think in peace.

* * *

A/N: So… should I stop here? I mean, this chapter is plenty long enough for my standards. But then, you read the same thing that happened in this chapter in Order of the Phoenix, just in different words, minus the Howler and all. So… I'm continuing! Feel free to thank me, and all reviews are accepted and appreciated! ;) Plus, I'm sorry about putting this in the middle of a chapter; I won't do it again.

* * *

"Does Harry like Quidditch?"

The three men (Remus, Sirius, and James—refer to chapter two) were back at Grimmauld Place, in the kitchen. Sirius and Remus were filling James in on what they knew about Harry. They just hadn't told him about some of Harry's… _greater _accomplishments. They would leave that to Harry himself.

Dumbledore had Flooed to the Ministry, for some unknown reason. The three men were now sitting at the kitchen table, drinking butterbeer, and talking about everyone's favorite subject: Harry James Potter.

"Yes," Sirius grinned, answering James's question. "He made the House team in first year as a Seeker."

James choked and spat out his mouthful of butterbeer. "W-What?" he coughed. "No one makes the house team in first year."

"Apparently, Harry did," Remus replied, grinning.

"But… but it's against the rules to have a broom in first year! He can't have ridden one of those old brooms Madam Hooch has! It's been fourteen years, broom technology has to have improved! He couldn't have ridden an old broom during matches! And McGonagall would confiscate it if he had his own broom!"

Sirius smirked. "Apparently Harry was so good at flying that McGonagall made an exception in the rules."

"That's not fair!" James sulked. "Why did she have to disregard the first-years-no-brooms rule _after_ I leave Hogwarts?"

Remus and Sirius both snickered.

"So… who's his Snivellus?"

Sirius and Remus glanced at each other. "Draco Malfoy," Remus finally replied.

James raised his eyebrows. "Draco Malfoy? Not that git Lucius Malfoy's son, by any chance?"

"That's the one," Sirius confirmed.

Just then the fire in the kitchen flared green and Dumbledore stepped gracefully out of it, while a tall, balding man with flaming red hair followed him. They both looked extremely grave.

"Albus, what happened?" Remus demanded. He could tell from the looks on their faces that the news was bad.

"Harry was attacked by dementors at Privet Drive," Dumbledore replied grimly, just as the other man asked, sounding confused, "Harry? Why are you here?"

"It's not Harry, it's James. James Potter," Sirius jumped in. "It turns out he wasn't dead after all."

The man looked shocked. (Understatement of the century.) Finally he managed to open his mouth and say, "Congratulations. I would sound happier, but this is an extremely important matter."

"Did you just say Harry was attacked by dementors?" James asked, a worry line creasing his brow.

"Yes." Dumbledore nodded. "He used a Patronus to drive them away, and he was expelled from Hogwarts because of that."

"What? _Expelled???" _James roared, jumping up and dropping his bottle of butterbeer with a _crash_. The glass bottle broke and the sticky amber liquid oozed over the floor, but James paid it no heed. "What do you mean, attacked by dementors and expelled? During your explanations you said that there were people who were keeping an eye on my son. Why weren't they there?"

"Apparently Mundungus Fletcher, assigned to watch over Harry at the time, Disapparated someplace and wasn't there," Dumbledore sighed.

"I'm going to kill him! How dare he—" James started a rant, but Sirius cut him off. "Did you manage to tell the Ministry to at least give him a trial?" he asked, staring at Dumbledore intensely.

Dumbledore nodded his head again. "It was hard, but I finally convinced them."

"Why _wouldn't _the Ministry give him a trial?" James snapped, tired of being left in the dark. "What's going on?"

Everyone ignored him. Sirius reached for a quill, a bottle of ink, and a piece of parchment and hastily scribbled something on it before handing to the red-haired man. "Here, will you mail this for me?"

The man nodded and pocketed the note.

"What are you all talking about?" James grumbled. "Can someone please explain?"

Remus, Sirius, and Dumbledore all looked at each other. "Harry has to explain it to you," they replied in unison.

James sighed. It seemed he wouldn't be getting any answers anytime soon. Not until he finally met his son again. It would be a long wait…

* * *

A/N: NOW I'm finally done with the chapter. Are you people happy? It's about 2,500 words, I'd say. PLEASE READ AND REVIEW!!! There are 40 people with this story on their alerts list, so if half of them review, I'll get 20 more reviews! I want at LEAST ten reviews, OK? That's one quarter of all the people with this story on their alerts list, so it should be easy enough!!! If I get reviews, I update faster because I have more inspiration. So please REVIEW!!! 


	5. Only the Best For the Golden Boy

**A/N:** Hey, thanks for the reviews! Wow, that was a LOT… Thank you to the anonymous reviewers, too: momoisdabest, S.S., Michella, Taylor, and aerialsdeath. I don't really have anything to say to them except "Thanks for the review!!!"… Yeah. They're reaaallly inspiring… here's the update! It's a long one. Oh, and this story will have OCs (other characters—characters that I made up). If you don't like OCs in a story, then too bad. **IMPORTANT!!!** Anastasia Berkley, Alexandra Berkley, and all the other OCs mentioned belong to my little sister, Clara. NOT ME. I'm using the characters from her Marauders' first year story. Check it out.

**Disclaimer:** My name is Kimberly Marianna Lavorgna. The author of Harry Potter is J. K. Rowling. Translation: I don't own Harry Potter.

* * *

**Returning to Life: Chapter Five** _by Morsmordre_

* * *

Anastasia Berkley was not a happy woman. All of her _un_happiness had started about fourteen years ago, when her best friend and her best friend's husband had been killed, and _her own fiancé_ being the reason said best friend was dead—he (said fiancé) had been thrown in jail. 

To sum it all up, after that Halloween night fourteen years ago, she had never been truly happy. At least, not really.

Today was no exception. Being a teacher of bratty Muggle children was so _dull_. She drummed her fingers on her desktop, waiting for the third grade American children to come in and begin whining about who-knows-what.

"Anastasia!"

She turned and glanced up at the door. The vice principal of this elementary school in North Carolina was here in her classroom. His name was Frederick Benson.

"Hello Frederick," she greeted him pleasantly—or as pleasantly as one could greet a person when one wasn't feeling well: emotionally, not physically.

Frederick nodded his head at the greeting. "There is someone here to see you," he stated.

Anastasia arched one dark eyebrow. "Oh, really?" she asked.

"Yes, really. Come along now."

Anastasia obliged, draping her coat across her chair "The students will be here soon," she reminded him.

"Mrs. Connolly will be here to take your place until you get back," Frederick answered evasively.

"What do you mean?" Anastasia frowned. "I'm only going to be at your office for a short time… aren't I?"

"This man is British too," Frederick commented.

Anastasia's insides froze. She was a pureblood, and she didn't know any British Muggles. It had to be someone from the wizarding world.

"Who is it?" she asked stiffly.

"He had some long, fancy name, and is rather old." Frederick chuckled to himself and pointed to the door of his office, before Anastasia could protest that she didn't want to see this man.

"Ah, Miss Berkley, I haven't seen you in a long time," came an all-too-familiar voice.

_Dammit, Dumbledore! Why the hell did you have to come and find me? I was doing perfectly well in the Muggle world by myself, thank you very much!_ she mentally screamed at him. But she couldn't be rude. Not now, anyway.

"Albus," she returned, inclining her head slightly. "Why are you here?"

"Could I speak to Miss Berkley privately, please?" Dumbledore asked Frederick, ignoring Anastasia's question.

"Of course. I'll be in my office if you need me." Frederick left the room, giving Anastasia a backward glance.

"Why are you here?" Anastasia repeated, crossing her arms over her chest. "You didn't answer my question."

"You are needed to join the Order of the Phoenix again."

Anastasia gave a start. She had expected her former headmaster to answer with some riddle or something, not to be so straightforward. But she quickly regained her composure and shot back, "I thought the Dark Lord was dead." She didn't want to say his name, but calling him You-Know-Who or He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was just plain ridiculous. Therefore, she settled for "the Dark Lord," even if people would suspect that she was a Death Eater.

"He was never dead," Dumbledore sighed. "His spirit was simply torn from his body, and now he was resurrected."

"Oh yeah, real simple," Anastasia agreed sarcastically. "And what does this have to do with me?"

"You were—" Dumbledore began, but Anastasia cut him off with a single word. "No."

"You—" Dumbledore started again, but Anastasia interrupted yet again.

"I said _no_, Albus," she proclaimed, vigorously shaking her head. "I'm living in the Muggle world now. I'm _not_ going back. I'm staying right where I am, and I never want to see or hear from you people again. Ever."

Dumbledore sighed. "Miss Berkley—"

"Don't. I don't want to hear it. Now if you'll excuse me, Albus, I have a class to teach."

Anastasia turned to leave the room, but before she could do so, Dumbledore asked, "What about Harry?"

Anastasia paused, her mind, for the first time in fourteen years, rewinding to Lily and James Potter's son, Harry.

"Is he going to Hogwarts?" slipped out of her mouth.

Dumbledore smiled. _Don't think you've won me over yet, you old fool. And you never will._ "Yes, he is. He will be starting his fifth year."

"Lovely. Now I'm leaving." Anastasia gave him her best glare and stalked to the door of the office, but it wouldn't budge. She tugged harder. Nothing.

She turned around and pinned Dumbledore with an icy look. "Let me out."

Dumbledore smiled again. "No." He reached into the pockets of his robes and rummaged around for something, before coming up with a bag. "Lemon drop?" he offered jovially.

It was just like him to offer her a lemon drop in a situation like this. She suddenly wanted to cry. "No thanks."

Dumbledore nodded and put the bag away. "You do remember what happened fourteen years ago, do you not?" he asked, popping a lemon drop of his own into his mouth.

Anastasia riveted her gaze onto the portrait of all the staff at Maple Leaf Elementary School hanging on the wall in a silver frame, instead of looking at Dumbledore. "Unfortunately."

"And I'm sure you remember what happened to Sirius Black."

The picture frame was beginning to blur around the edges. She gripped her knuckles so tightly, they turned white. "I don't want to talk about him."

"Well, he is actually innocent, blamed for the crimes caused by Peter Pettigrew," Dumbledore continued, as if he hadn't heard her.

_"WHAT?!"_

Frederick came out of his office, looking alarmed. "I couldn't but help hear your outburst, Anastasia," he began. "Is everything all right?"

"Fine." Anastasia didn't bother to look at either of them. Her brain was still trying to process this new information.

"All right. Like I said, I'll be in my office if you need me." Frederick left the room again.

"Albus." Anastasia pinned Dumbledore with one of her infamous explain-_now_ glares. "What do you mean, he is innocent?"

Dumbledore smiled, that blasted, too-familiar twinkle in his blue eyes. Anastasia could have sworn that he was enjoying this much more than he should. "I will tell you if you will come with me and join the Order of the Phoenix again," he responded.

Anastasia's left eye twitched—a sure sign that she was beginning to lose her temper. "Bribing me now, are you?"

Dumbledore smiled. It was an infuriatingly patient smile. "Well, I _have _been called a manipulative old bastard from time to time."

Anastasia was so startled at the headmaster's use of the word "bastard" that before she knew what she was doing, her mouth opened and formed the words "Let me get my things."

She mentally smacked herself on the head. Repeatedly.

"I'll be waiting." Dumbledore smiled again, his eyes still twinkling.

* * *

Alexandra Berkley had just settled down with her laptop, her glasses on, when the doorbell rang.

Who could it be? Alexandra had no idea who would be coming to _her _house. Ever since she had defied the Death Eaters (a bit too late—_after_ she had taken the Dark Mark), she had gone into hiding. It was ironic, really, because just a few days after, the Dark Lord's power broke and he disappeared, because of Harry Potter.

Harry Potter. She thought about him as she stood up and headed towards the front door of the small apartment she lived in, in New York City of America. He was the son of her twin sister's best friend, and he had been the one to vanquish the Dark Lord.

She had never really believed the Dark Lord had been vanquished. He definitely wasn't human enough to die, if the way he tortured and killed Muggles, Muggleborns, half-bloods, and children was anything to go by.

She was so lost in thought about Voldemort and Harry Potter that the doorbell rang again (since she was taking so long to answer) and startled her. She tripped over her own two feet, and cursing quietly to herself, she went and opened the door.

Nothing could have prepared her for what—or rather, whom—she saw standing in her doorway. Albus Dumbledore, who had been the headmaster of Hogwarts when she attended the school, and—this part really shocked her—her sister, Anastasia Berkley.

"You!" Alexandra and Anastasia both gasped at the exact same time.

"What is she doing here?" Alexandra demanded. "And what are you doing here?"

At the exact same time, Anastasia exclaimed, "_This_ is whom you wanted to pick up to Order headquarters?"

"What do you mean, Order headquarters? Aren't I a Death Eater to you?" Alexandra snapped, whipping off her glasses and tucking them into the back pocket of her jeans.

"Well, are you just going to stand there or invite us in?" Anastasia retorted.

Alexandra's left eye twitched—it was a thing that happened whenever she got angry. That was probably the only thing she had in common with her sister, except for the fact that they were both Berkleys and they had fiery tempers.

For example,

Anastasia: dark hair, Alexandra: light hair.

Anastasia: Gryffindor, Alexandra: Ravenclaw.

Anastasia: ex-Order of the Phoenix member, Alexandra: ex-Death Eater.

Anastasia: giggly (at least during her Hogwarts years), Alexandra: sharp, sarcastic, and a bit snobbish sometimes.

…

I think you get the point.

Anyway.

Alexandra finally stepped back, after a moment of contemplation, and turned on her heel and swept back into her living room, her long blond mane of hair flying behind her.

She stalked into the kitchen and brewed a pot of tea; then she poured it into two cups and went back into the living room to greet her guests. "Tea?" she offered them.

Alexandra expected her sister to make some snarky comment about how she had probably poisoned it or something, but to her great surprise, she didn't.

"Thank you, Miss Berkley," Dumbledore said, taking a sip of his tea. "Lemon drop?"

Alexandra wanted to laugh at the irony of the situation, but she didn't. "No thank you," she responded. "So why are you here? And how did you find me?"

**(Enter an incredibly long explanation because I'm too lazy to type one, including these facts:**

**After she agreed to go with Dumbledore, Anastasia told Frederick Benson that she would be gone for a while, and then Dumbledore explained the whole thing about Sirius, and James coming back to life.**

**Dumbledore communicated with Sirius and confirmed that after Alexandra defied the Dark Lord, she met up with Sirius and spilled the whole thing to him, and he believed her, which is why Dumbledore and Anastasia knew that Alexandra had renounced her Death Eater ways.**

**Sirius was innocent; Peter Pettigrew was the one who committed those crimes, James had never been dead after all, etc.**

**Voldemort was recently resurrected, and they were needed to join the Order of the Phoenix.**

**Anything else that I might have missed because I forgot it for the moment.)**

After Dumbledore finally stopped speaking, he looked at Alexandra and opened his mouth to ask a question, but Anastasia beat him to it. "Are you in?" she demanded.

Alexandra thought about this a moment. She was living in the Muggle word, and the only reason she had enough Muggle money was because she had kept her wand and conjured some up every month, and used it in her Muggle bank account. She had plenty of Muggle appliances—pretty ironic for a prejudiced pureblood. But there was no doubt what she would choose: she wanted to prove herself, to prove the fact that she wasn't just a Death Eater—after all, she had renounced the half-blood bastard also known as Tom Marvolo Riddle. There really was no point in even thinking about it.

"Yes, I'm in."

* * *

It had been a few days since Harry had been attacked by the dementors, James reflected, as he walked down the hall at Grimmauld Place. The official Order meeting about James's return was tonight, as well as discussions about how to "rescue" Harry from Number Four, Privet Drive.

"Hi, James."

James looked up, startled from his revelations by Remus, who was watching him with an amused look on his face.

"A lot on your mind?" Remus correctly guessed.

James sighed and nodded. "Right in one."

"What do you want to know?"

Someday, James vowed to himself, Remus's ability to read people so well would _not _come in handy.

Or not. Oh, right. He was a werewolf, and he had the ability to read people's emotions and feelings very easily. Well, scratch that, then.

"Well, now I know what happened to us," James began, meaning the Marauders. "But what about Lily's friends?" It hurt him to say her name. He still missed her. In fact the only reason he wasn't breaking down crying all the time or anything like that was probably the knowledge that Harry was alive and well, and a teenager to boot.

"Well, you know Maggie and Benjamin were killed in Death Eater attacks, and Kiki was Kissed by a dementor," Remus started awkwardly.

James nodded, flinching slightly. He didn't like thinking about that.

Remus seemed to agree. "Right, well… after Voldemort was temporarily defeated at Godric's Hollow that night, some of Voldemort's most loyal followers went to hunt for him, because they thought that maybe he really wasn't dead. Some Death Eaters captured Alice and Frank Longbottom, because they thought they knew where they were."

James did not like the sound of where this was going. "And…?" he asked, dreading the answer.

Remus sighed. "I guess I'll just be blunt and say it. Bellatrix Lestrange—Sirius's cousin—tortured the Longbottoms into insanity. They're in the mental ward at St. Mungo's right now."

James couldn't believe it. Even though Frank had been one year older than them, he had been good friends with the Marauders. And Alice had been one of Lily's best friends, too!

James let out an infuriated yell and smashed his fist on the door of one of the empty rooms at headquarters. He immediately wished he hadn't done that, because it had hurt. A lot.

Remus waited patiently until James was done throwing his temper tantrum.

"Go on," James said sulkily. He would have let out his anger some more, if it weren't for the fact that he was waiting to find out what had happened to Anastasia Berkley, another one of Lily's best friends.

Lily. It hurt to think about her. James shook his head to clear his thoughts.

"Well, a few days after the attack on Godric's Hollow, and the day after they found Frank and Alice"—here Remus grimaced slightly—"I went to see Anastasia, but she was packing up. She said everyone she loved, or even remotely liked, was dead, and she was giving up on magic and moving to the Muggle world. She wouldn't say where. Then she slammed the door in my face."

"Jeez," James muttered. That didn't sound like Anna. "What about her twin sister?"

Remus filled him in on Alexandra Berkley's situation—the whole renouncing the Death Eaters, seeing Sirius just before the attack at Godric's Hollow to warn him that Voldemort knew where the Potters were, and then going off into hiding—all of it. **(I'm just too lazy to type a full explanation in Remus's exact words. Besides, there's an Order meeting coming up soon, and this chapter is already pretty long…At least, in my standards it is. Long, I mean.)**

James opened his mouth to voice his opinion on the whole situation with Lily's friends and Alexandra Berkley when Sirius's voice floated in from the entrance hall. "Oy! Prongs! Dumbledore's here!" Sirius called from down the hall. "He's coming—"

He was cut off by a crash and the air was filled with shrieks and yells from Sirius's dear old mum's (sarcasm, people, sarcasm: get used to it) portrait.

_"—FILTHY BLOOD TRAITORS! HOW DARE YOU SET FOOT IN THE NOBLE AND MOST ANCIENT HOUSE OF BLACK, BELONGING TO MY RESPECTABLE PUREBLOOD ANCESTORS! GET OUT!—"_

James rushed towards the entrance hall of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black to help Sirius with the stupid, rather loud and unattractive portrait.

_"YOU! YOU! I NEVER WANT TO SEE YOU HERE AGAIN! YOU ARE NO SON OF MINE! GET OUT!"_

As Dumbledore and the two newcomers to Order headquarters stared in shock, Sirius tugged on the curtains, trying to shut out the screaming portrait.

"Damn it, don't just stand there!" Sirius snarled, when James gaped at him. "Will you come over here and try to help me shut up this stupid old hag?"

Together, the two men managed to shut the curtains on the angry portrait.

"Hi, Dumbledore—er, Albus. Sorry about that," Sirius apologized, a bit sheepishly. "The Order meeting's in there; it's about to start."

"Of course, Sirius," Dumbledore agreed, inclining his head. "I'd also like you to meet some old acquaintances…" He gestured toward the two women behind him.

Sirius looked at them, raising an eyebrow. "Er…"

Then he seemed to realize just who exactly they were.

"…hi?" he offered, looking at them almost fearfully.

James recognized them now, too. He hadn't seen them since fourteen years ago—although to him, it didn't seem that long. They were older now, but it was still obvious who they were.

"Anastasia and Alexandra Berkley?" he gasped.

It would be a long night.

**(A/N: Ew, not in that way, you pervert!)**

* * *

"The Order meeting is about to begin," Dumbledore declared.

After meeting each other again after fourteen years, the remaining Marauders (Peter didn't count) and the Berkley twins went over some things and reacquainted themselves with each other. It was still a bit awkward between Sirius and Anastasia—after all, they had been engaged before Sirius had been chucked in Azkaban. They were now getting along like… well, say, like Moody and Kingsley. Acquaintances and allies, but not best friends or anything.

Now Dumbledore was starting the Order meeting. Moody had been informed of James's supposed return from the dead. (Needless to say, he had been very suspicious. Of course, being locked in your own compartment trunk for over half a year could do that to a person. Not that James knew of this tidbit of information…yet.) Now James was standing under Moody's borrowed Invisibility Cloak and watching the Order meeting, waiting for the right time to come out.

"I have a matter of great importance to tell you," Dumbledore began the meeting.

"Is it good news?" called out a pink-and-spiky-haired witch who was wearing a Weird Sisters T-shirt. She looked oddly familiar, for some reason.

"Very," Dumbledore answered, smiling. "I will be blunt and say it—James Potter has returned to life."

There was a stunned silence, finally to be broken by a greasy-haired man who also looked oddly familiar.

"You're not serious!" he exclaimed.

"Of course he's not, _I'm _Sirius!" Sirius declared immediately.

The Order groaned, obviously used to the pun. James stifled a snicker.

"Shut up, Black," the greasy-haired man snarled.

"I am not joking, Severus," Dumbledore replied. "James was never subjected to the Killing Curse…"

As Dumbledore explained to the assembled Order about the Freezing Charm, James found his thoughts wandering. _Severus? He meant Snape! SNAPE??? What is SNAPE doing in the Order?_

Before James could further ponder this thought, Dumbledore proclaimed, "James, you can take off the Invisibility Cloak."

James gave a start and then yanked the silvery material off his head.

There was another stunned silence.

Then, the pink-haired witch jumped up and walked over to him, a bright smile on his face. "Hi! I'm Tonks—I don't know if you remember me, but I'm Sirius's cousin Andromeda's daughter, Nymphadora. Call me Tonks, though!"

James took her hand, briefly remembering a small seven-year-old he had seen once when visiting Sirius's cousin Andromeda's house.

"I kind of remember you," James began, but he was cut off when the rest of the Order began clambering to greet him.

"James! I can't believe it's really you!" Hestia Jones cried.

"James Potter! What an honor—I remember you!" exclaimed a short man whom James briefly recognized as Dedalus Diggle.

"Potter." It was Snape, looking as if Christmas had been cancelled (but Snape probably didn't even celebrate Christmas, so this wasn't really even saying anything—besides, Snape probably hated cheery people and couples snogging under mistletoe).

"Hi Snapey. Just as greasy and oily as ever, I see," James replied smoothly. "How are you?"

Snape let out a sort of snarl before turning back to his seat.

"Now James," Dumbledore chided gently.

James just shrugged.

After everyone had introduced themselves or become reunited with the father of the Boy-Who-Lived, Dumbledore began speaking again.

"Now, Privet Drive is no longer safe for Harry," he started. "Therefore, we have to send out some people to take him and bring him back to headquarters."

"Of course, only the best for the Golden Boy," Snape sneered.

James glared at him.

Dumbledore remained deaf to Snape's comment. "We need at least ten people—sort of a guard—to retrieve Harry for Privet Drive…"

The rest of the Order meeting was spent deciding who would be in the guard, what their plan was, how they would get Harry here at headquarters (Tonks suggested brooms, which was the final plan), etc.

James sighed as everyone finally left late at night, wrapping up the meeting. He couldn't go to retrieve his son because Harry didn't know he was alive yet, and he wasn't supposed to be out of headquarters until he was officially declared alive again by the Ministry. Hopefully, he would get to meet Harry soon. He was getting tired of waiting, for Harry and for answers.

* * *

**A/N: **Oh. My. God. Is that an update? Why yes it is!!! PLEASE REVIEW!!! I got so many reviews last time that fifteen reviews should NOT be a problem. There are 48 people with this story on their alerts list anyway, or something like that (the last time I checked the number was last week). So PLEASE REVIEW!!! I need inspiration!

-Morsmordre, AKA Kim


	6. Two Bad Puns and a Random Flashback

**A/N:** OMFG. TWENTY-TWO REVIEWS?!?!?! You guys are the best!

…

Um…

So, yeah…

I don't really have much to say except, I hope you like this chapter! Plus, there's a very long flashback scene in here… well, not _that _long, just kinda long… OK, how about this: there's a flashback scene in here. OK, that's better. You can thank **Acelinn **(Readers: "Thank you, **Acelinn**!" LOL) for it—I wasn't originally planning to put it there, but then I decided to, because I went back and reread the reviews to see if anyone had any suggestions.

Oh yeah, and a **disclaimer:** I don't own Harry Potter.

Plus: This is my longest chapter so far! Be thankful; it's to make up for the (kind of) long wait!

* * *

**Chapter Six of "Returning to Life" **_by Morsmordre_

* * *

After the Order meeting adjourned, Arthur Weasley came up to James again and offered him his hand.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, James Potter," he said with a warm smile. "Your son is a terrific young man, and he's like a seventh son to us. My youngest son, Ron, and Harry are best friends."

"Cool." James grinned at the man and took his hand and shook it firmly. Then he paused and frowned.

"Six sons?" he asked weakly.

"And a daughter," Arthur added.

James shook his head in disbelief. "Jeez…" he muttered.

"They're all here now," Arthur told him. "I think they'd like to meet you. One of Harry's other best friends, Hermione Granger, is here too. She's a Muggleborn witch."

A Muggleborn witch… just like Lily…

He felt his throat close up at the thought of his now deceased wife. He was never going to see her again, and never going to hear her laugh again, or hear her speak again, or…

"James?"

James shook himself out of his reverie to glance at Arthur, who was looking at him, concerned.

"Oh… I'm fine," James lied. "Let's go meet your sons! And… Hermione Granger, did you say?"

Arthur nodded. He didn't seem to believe James about being fine, but he didn't press the issue.

James followed Arthur out of the room into another smaller room lined with tapestries on the walls. There was a fireplace and a few couches and high-backed chairs in the room. Four redheads—three boys, one girl—and a brown-haired girl were in the room.

"Hello," Arthur greeted the room at large.

"Dad!" One of the redheaded boys shot up in his seat. "What's going on? Why's there an Order meeting when…" he trailed off and stared at James.

"This is what the meeting was about," Arthur explained, indicating James. "James Potter is alive." He quickly filled the children (although they weren't really _children _anymore) in on the details.

There was a shocked silence, which was almost inevitably broken by one of the Weasley boys saying, "Bloody hell. You really _do _look like Harry."

And just like that, the tension in the room was broken.

The three boys and two girls got up to introduce themselves. "I'm Ron Weasley, one of Harry's best friends," one of the boys said.

"I'm Gred—" added another one of the Weasley boys. The remaining two were identical twins.

"—and this is Forge," concluded the other twin.

"Fred and George," Arthur said by way of explanation when he caught James's questioning look. "They're pranksters, so watch out for them."

James grinned at the mention of one of his favorite pastimes, but before he could speak, he was cut off by the youngest of the lot—the only Weasley girl.

"I'm Ginny Weasley," she introduced herself, smiling.

"And I'm Hermione Granger. I'm another one of Harry's best friends," the only non-redhead in the room (with the exception of James, who didn't even really count because he had just entered the room) finished the introductions.

"It's great to meet all of Harry's friends," James answered, grinning at them all.

"It's nice to meet you too, Mr. Potter," Hermione returned, smiling.

James frowned. "Mr. Potter? Don't call me Mr. Potter—that's my dad! Call me James."

"All right… James," Ron agreed, albeit a bit hesitantly.

James nodded, and then he turned back to the father of the Weasleys. "I thought you said you had seven… I mean six sons? Where are the other three?"

The Weasleys' faces immediately clouded, and James had the feeling that he had said something wrong.

"Bill and Charlie are in the Order too," Arthur finally spoke up. "Bill's a curse breaker at Gringotts, and Charlie works in Romania with dragons… they're both not here right now… but they are in London. Just out somewhere. And Percy…" His face darkened considerably.

It was Ron who finally told the tale of why everyone seemed so upset by the mention of Percy. "Don't talk about Percy in front of Mum… she'll cry."

"What happened? Did he die?" James wondered aloud in a strained tone of voice.

"I wish," Ginny said bitterly.

"Ginny!" Arthur reprimanded.

Ginny scowled at the carpet.

"You see, Mr. P—I mean, James, You-Know-Who's been resurrected just last month or so… did you know about that?"

James nodded his head, deciding to ask just _why _in the seven depths of hell did Harry witness Voldemort's resurrection later.

"Well… everyone thought he was dead, so when Dumbledore and Harry went around saying that You-Know-Who was back, the Ministry didn't believe him, and they started printing all this rubbish—a bunch of lies—in the _Daily Prophet_, basically saying that Dumbledore's off his rocker and Harry is an attention-seeking brat."

James clenched his fists. "When I'm officially declared alive again, I'd like to have a _word _with these reporters… and the Minister too, now that I think of it…" he paused a moment, and then turned back to the explanation. "Go on."

"Well… Percy believes the Ministry, and not us. He and Dad had a huge row, and he's packed up and moved out—he's here somewhere in London too. Mum tried to go and talk to him, and he slammed the door in her face."

"Bastard," George—or maybe it was Fred—added helpfully.

"Watch your language," Arthur scolded.

"It's true," Fred—or maybe it was George; in any case, it was the other twin—insisted.

"I agree," Ginny put in, twirling a long red lock around her finger.

_Just like Lily…_

"Er… Mr. Po—I mean James?"

James shook his head to clear his thoughts again and glanced up at Fred, George, Ginny, Hermione, and Arthur, who were all looking at him concernedly.

"I'm fine," James said quickly, pushing all thoughts of Lily and her being dead to the back of his mind. He would deal with it later… if he ever would deal with it at all.

"OK…" Hermione agreed, nodding, even though she didn't look entirely convinced; she dropped the touchy subject, though.

"So…" James thought a moment before speaking again. "Who wants to tell me about what Harry did at Hogwarts over the years?"

Ron and Hermione exchanged discreet glances. "Harry," everyone in the room said in unison.

James resisted the urge to bash his head on something hard. Repeatedly.

* * *

Two days passed. People finally began to take in the fact that James had somehow miraculously supposedly returned from the dead and stopped jumping or shrieking every time they saw him.

Anna (that was what everyone called Anastasia, except for Dumbledore, who called her "Miss Berkley" and Mad-Eye Moody who just called her "Berkley") and Alex (that was what everyone called Alexandra, except for Dumbledore and Moody, who each called her the same things they called her sister—and yes, Moody was still suspicious of her because she had been a Death Eater) both tolerated each other—but just to a minimum. They had always hated each other since they were little kids, and old habits were hard to break (think of James and Snape trying to become friends and you get the general idea).

The day finally came for the Advance Guard to go and "rescue" Harry from the Dursleys. James was excited and couldn't wait for them to get back—he wanted information about Voldemort and the Order, but he just mostly wanted to see his son again… as a teenager, that is.

He pestered everyone—from Dedalus Diggle to Emmeline Vance to Kingsley Shacklebolt to Mad-Eye Moody to Nymphadora Tonks to Remus—so much that Remus finally told him to shut up, and that they were leaving to retrieve Harry.

After they left, James was put in a restless mood. He paced up and down the halls, spoke to the Weasley twins about their plans for opening a joke shop (he gave them some suggestions), annoyed Sirius, tried to annoy Molly but failed because she was still aflutter about the fact that he was actually alive, and drank some butterbeer.

Sirius, on the other hand, was staying where he was… which was in the room where Order meetings were usually held. Anastasia was there as well, reading a very thick book. Sirius just sat there, staring into the fireplace and not saying or doing anything.

Finally, he grew tired of the silence and sighed loudly.

Anastasia looked up, raising an eyebrow. "Something wrong, Sirius?" she inquired.

"No. Just bored." Sirius stared at the fireplace, watching the dancing, flickering flames.

Anna had always wondered… Sirius had managed to stay sane after spending twelve years in Azkaban. But it had definitely changed him. If Sirius hadn't been framed, and he was waiting for Harry to come, he would have gone and pranked someone to pass the time. But Sirius, now, had a haunted look in his eyes, and pranking someone probably hadn't even crossed his mind.

"You've changed," she noted.

Sirius gave a start before turning back to look at her carefully.

"So have you," he finally replied.

It was all Anna could do not to snort. Had she ever…

_Flashback _**(I think this is where the T rating begins to come in… the rating was just in case, anyway… It's basically just to show how she was like during her Hogwarts years… so if you don't like T-rating-ish stuff, then don't read the flashback—just skip over the italicized parts)**

_Lily, Alice, Maggie, and Anna had been exploring Hogwarts over the winter holidays, and they had found a private room. It was up in the seventh floor corridor, and the door hadn't been there… and then it just had been there. It really was quite strange._

_Kiki was on a date with Benjy Fenwick, so one of the Gryffindor sixth-year girls was missing. But no matter… at least, not for now._

_"Ooh, this place looks like the Gryffindor common room!" Anna squealed happily._

_"How come I didn't know of this place?" Lily mused. "I mean, I've been here before on prefects' patrol duties and I've never seen it."_

_"Maybe it only shows up around Christmastime," Anna responded dismissively, sinking onto a couch and placing her feet on the glass table in front of her._

_"Yeah, maybe," Maggie agreed skeptically, clearly unconvinced._

_"Whatever. It's Christmas! Hey, do you think they have any butterbeer in this place?"_

_"Yes," Alice said, pointing to a pack of bottles in the corner of the room. "I really wonder just what this place is…"_

_"You know, I want some firewhiskey," Anna began._

_"Don't even think about it," Lily warned. "You're underage, anyway, and you don't even know what firewhiskey tastes like."_

_But Anna wasn't listening. "Look! Firewhiskey!" she shrieked happily, indicating another pack of bottles, this one clearly not butterbeer._

_"Jeez. I guess I could wish for an ice cream sundae, and it'd be there?" Alice asked rhetorically in a dry tone of voice._

_Just as soon as the words left her mouth, her attention was drawn to something in the corner… (surprise, surprise) … an ice cream sundae._

_"I guess whatever you want, you get it," Maggie observed._

_Anna, meanwhile, had gotten to the bottles of firewhiskey and popped one open. "Let's see if this is as good as all the seventh-years say," she mused._

_"No, Anna. You are not getting drunk," Lily declared firmly._

_"Why not? It's Christmastime! Loosen up, will ya?" Anna took a sip and gagged. "Ugh! This burns your throat."_

_"So don't drink it. I'm not going to make a hangover potion for you anyway," Maggie, who was extremely talented at Potions (even more so than Lily), suggested._

_"But couldn't you just wish one here?" Anna retorted, grinning. She took another sip of the firewhiskey and made a face._

_"If you don't like it, don't drink it," Maggie repeated._

_"I want to get drunk," Anna insisted. "It's way more fun at Christmastime then it is at any normal time. And who knows when we'll get the chance to do it again? You never found this room before, Lily, so what if it disappears again?"_

_"Then get some firewhiskey next year, when you're legally allowed to do so!" Alice cried in exasperation._

_"What's the fun in that? It's much better to get your first drink when you're still underage—you'll know you broke a rule!" Anna smirked and chugged down the rest of the bottle before nearly choking. "I don't like firewhiskey."_

_"THEN DON'T DRINK IT, FOR GOD'S SAKE!" Lily shrieked, annoyed._

_"I want to get drunk," Anna repeated simply before opening her second bottle._

_Everyone groaned._

_HHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH_

_Two hours and more than just a few bottles of firewhiskey plus a very drunk Anna later, the girls were having fun._

_Having fun not as in singing, dancing, playing games, having a snowball fight, or having a party. Having fun as in using a charm to record everything Anna was saying under the influence of firewhiskey:_

_"So this is how you do the charm," Lily repeated for what seemed to be the ten thousandth time._

_"Right…" Alice muttered._

_All three girls turned to look at Anna, who was currently spouting facts about how good-looking she thought Sirius Black was. And this would not have been majorly shocking or anything if it weren't for the fact that Anna proclaimed—and seemed to, too—to like Sirius Black about as much as Lily liked James._

_"I knew you liked him. I just knew it!" Maggie crowed gleefully. "Kiki owes me five Galleons!"_

_"Er?… You were betting?" Anna asked, standing up and wobbling slightly before sitting back down, a dreamy expression on her face. "Sirius is sooooo good looking…"_

_"Since when did he become 'Sirius' and not 'Black?' " Lily teased, taking a sip of the butterbeer Alice had found—or wished there. Whichever it was._

_"Since now," Anna slurred._

_"Note to self: Never get Anna drunk again." Maggie paused, a slow grin forming on her face. "Although it is fun to be able to get all this down on paper"—she pointed to the charmed quill, which was scribbling down everything Anna had been saying— "and be able to blackmail her, though…" she added, a thoughtful expression on her face._

_"… He's so hot," Anna was saying._

_Lily was amused, yet exasperated at the same time. "We're never getting you drunk again, Anna."_

_"You didn't get me drunk. I got myself drunk!" Anna cheered. "Drink, drank, drunk…"_

_"Fine then. You're never getting yourself drunk again."_

_"Drunk, drank, drink…Why not? It's fun."_

_"You're not, Anna."_

_"Alrighty then. Hey, that sounds funny! Alrighty…" Anna giggled._

_"No it doesn't. I think we'd better place a Sobering Charm on her," Alice suggested._

_"Hey Lily, did you notice how good-looking Birius Slack is?" _

_"You mean Sirius Black."_

_"Right… Sirius Black… Birius Slack… same difference. Did you notice how good-looking he is?"_

_"Yes, I did, but that doesn't mean I like him. I believe over half the girls in the school, with the exception of the Slytherins, have noticed."_

_"Yeah… I want to throw him on my bed and rip his clothes off…" Anna stared into space, a dreamy look on her face, and then began describing what she called some of Sirius's… ah… finer qualities._

_Lily began to look revolted now._

_"Please stop," Alice begged, looking like she wanted to throw up. "You're making very disgusting comments…"_

_"It's time for a Sobering Charm," Maggie intoned solemnly. "She's gone too far."_

_Lily agreed, but then she paused and frowned. A mischievous smile took over her face, and she quickly muttered something under her breath. _

_A duplicate of the parchment with the conversation on it appeared._

_"We can blackmail her now!" Alice cried gleefully, seeing Lily's intent._

_Lily nodded, and then finally cast the long-awaited Sobering Charm on her overly drunk friend._

_Anna immediately stopped talking._

_"Bloody sodding hell," she groaned. "What happened?"_

_"You got drunk and revealed some… ah… rather interesting information regarding Sirius Black is what happened," Maggie told her, picking up the parchment and handing it over to Anna._

_Anna scanned the parchment and her eyes widened. She let out a string of obscenities that would probably have made an Auror blush._

_"I did not say that. Tell me I did not say that," Anna moaned._

_"You didn't say that," Alice offered helpfully._

_"I didn't?" Anna asked._

_"Actually, you did," Alice admitted. "I only told you that you didn't say that because you asked me to."_

_Anna swore under her breath, and then she pulled out her wand and muttered and "Incendio"… and the parchment lit on fire._

_Maggie opened her mouth to say something, but was cut off by Lily. "Why'd you do that?" she demanded._

_"No blackmail material for you," Anna returned cheerfully, before standing up. "C'mon, let's go."_

_Anna later wondered why her friends hadn't taken off the Sobering Charm as a punishment for lighting the parchment on fire. She soon found out later._

_"Good job with the acting, Lily," she overheard Alice say. "That was terrific!"_

_"She bought it," Maggie added. "Never knew you were such a good actress, Lily."_

_"I didn't either," Lily admitted. "So we have an extra copy of what she said?"_

_"Yup. Got it," Maggie confirmed, reaching into the pockets of her robes and rummaging around. _

_There was a pause. _

_"Aw, it's gone!"_

_Anna chose this moment to step into the room and make her presence known._

_There was a moment of silence as the three girls originally in the room—Alice, Lily, and Maggie—stared at Anna. Then Lily summed up the whole situation in one word:_

_"Dammit."_

_End flashback _**(I told you about the T rating… I hope it wasn't that stupid or anything. It just kinda popped up in my head. And I haven't ever had experience with drunk people—and I hope I never will have to—so I don't know how that came out. Sorry if she acted stupid. Or disgusting. Or whatever.)**

"Anna… stasia?" Sirius tacked on the last two syllables of her name at the last moment.

"Hmm?" she inquired, blinking and shaking herself out of her reverie.

"Uh… Harry is here… you might want to meet him, considering he was one of your best friends' son and all…"

Anna nodded and got up, leaving the room. Sirius followed.

* * *

Harry was confused. He had received no information at all for … say, a very long time… he had been expelled and told that Ministry officials would come to his house and snap his wand, and then he had been mailed a letter saying that he wasn't expelled, but he had to go attend a trial on August 12th.

Then a bunch of people had come over to the Dursleys when they were out—including his former Defense professor, Remus Lupin, and had said that they were taking him someplace… but that someplace was not the Burrow.

And then they had flown to Grimmauld Place… wherever that was. Something to do with the Order of the Phoenix. And Harry _still _didn't know what that was either.

"Be quiet," Lupin (**A/N: I'm going to call him "Lupin" when it's in Harry's point of view because that's what it says in the books, OK?**) whispered as they tiptoed into the dark and gloomy house. "Keep your voice down."

"Why?" Harry questioned, following Lupin, Moody, and everyone else into the entrance hall of the house. It was a very Dark-looking house… Dark as in Dark-artifacts-and-wizards-based. It looked like something Harry would imagine to be Malfoy's home, or something like that, considering all the lethal-looking objects on the shelves and fraying tapestries and curtains adorning the walls.

CRASH!

The pink-haired Auror Harry had recently met—Tonks, her name was—had just tripped over the trolls'-leg (**A/N: I don't remember what it was exactly—seeing as I don't have the books with me, I can't check, but I briefly remember it had something to do with a troll, so I'm going with trolls'-leg; sorry if it's wrong**) umbrella stand.

The curtains near the center of the entrance hall blew open and Harry realized that it was actually a portrait of a… woman. She looked like a hag. And she looked furious as well. Which was probably the reason why she began screeching in ear-splitting tones, nearly making Harry go deaf.

_"—FILTHY MUDBLOODS AND HALF-BREEDS—" _were the only words Harry caught through the racket.

"Shut up!" Harry heard a man snap, and he turned around to see his godfather, Sirius Black, storming into the entrance hall, an annoyed look on his face.

The portrait turned to see Sirius, and her eyes nearly bulged out of her head. _"YOU!" _she shrieked angrily, jabbing an accusing finger at him.

Sirius gave a sort of angry snarl and tugged on the curtains, which somehow wouldn't budge.

"A little help here?" Sirius demanded.

Harry would have helped, but he was too busy gawking to do anything.

Remus nodded and rushed forward, ignoring the portrait's shrieks about not wanting "filthy half-breeds to touch the canvas she was painted on" or whatever.

Finally, the stubborn curtains swung shut.

There was a pause, before Sirius finally turned to Harry. "Hi Harry," he greeted him, rather grimly in Sirius's opinion. (But then, his Animagus form looked like a Grim… grimly… Grim… get it? Haha. Sorry, bad pun.) "That's my dear old mum." This part was said with a touch more sarcasm.

"Your mum?" Harry gasped.

"Yeah, my dear old mum." Sirius shrugged noncommittally. "Seems to love me, doesn't she?"

"Er… Harry wasn't quite sure how to respond to this.

"Right… well, there's someone you should meet. Two someones, actually."

Two women had appeared behind Sirius. Well, they hadn't _appeared_… they had just walked up behind him. One had dark brown hair, the other had white-blond hair. They looked very alike, though.

"This is Anastasia Isabella Berkley"—Sirius gestured to the dark-haired woman— "and this is Alexandra Katerina Berkley. Anastasia was a friend of your mum."

Harry wasn't quite sure what to say to this. Knowing that Lupin and Sirius were friends of his dad was one thing. Meeting a person who had been a friend of his mum was entirely another.

"Er… hi?" he offered tentatively.

He was confused when everyone stared at him, then at each other, and then looked as if they were fighting the urge to laugh.

"That's exactly what Sirius said when he first met them again a few days ago," Lupin explained, smiling slightly.

Harry only had one thing to say to that. Which was:

"Oh."

* * *

James heard the conversation coming from the entrance hall, and he fought the urge to rush down and greet his son. If he did, however, Harry would probably faint, or point his wand at him, attack him, and declare him a Death Eater… or something. And James didn't want that to happen.

He waited in his room patiently for what seemed like hours. He eventually heard the sound of someone shouting—it sounded like Harry. James couldn't make out the words exactly, but Harry definitely sounded furious about something or other.

James didn't know how long he sat there, until the door to his room finally opened—without anyone bothering to knock—and Sirius appeared.

"You can come to the Order meeting; Dumbledore's got something important to say," Sirius told him quietly. "After that, I'll tell Harry about you."

James nodded and left the room to attend the meeting.

* * *

Harry now understood things more. About the Order of the Phoenix, Grimmauld Place, the trial he was going to attend on August 12th for using underage magic, etc. Yet there was one thing he didn't understand. Something that Ron, Hermione, Ginny, Fred, and George had all agreed on—that Harry was going to get a big surprise.

Before Harry could ponder this any further, Sirius stuck his head through the door. "Harry, could I speak to you?"

Harry blinked, puzzled. "Sure," he replied confusedly, getting up.

"We'll see you later, mate," Ron said quietly. (**Jeez, everyone is speaking so quietly in this chapter!**)

Harry nodded and followed Sirius out of the room.

Sirius led him to another room (Just how many rooms were there in Grimmauld Place, anyway?) and shut the door. "You may want to sit down, Harry," he began.

Harry sat.

Sirius began to pace up and down. "All right… if we kept it from you and you found out, you'd probably kill us…"

"Sirius, what is it? Ron and Hermione mentioned some huge surprise."

"Oh, it's a big surprise all right," Sirius muttered.

Harry was instantly put on alert. "What is it?"

"All right, there's no way to mention it casually and tell you, so I'll just be blunt and say it: your dad is alive."

There was a brief silence in the room, to be broken by Harry, who had gone a rather white shade of… er, white.

"Are you joking?" Harry choked out.

"I'm not joking; I'm dead serious," Sirius responded. He paused a moment. "OK, I'll admit it: that was a really bad pun." **(Hence the title of the chapter…) **"But I'm not kidding, or joking, or anything. Your dad really is alive."

"How is that possible?" Harry demanded. "He's supposed to be dead."

"Well, he was put under some sort of charm that made everyone think he was dead," Sirius explained. "The charm was lifted just last week or so."

Harry's expression was unreadable as he asked, "So he can change into Prongs?"

"Well… we haven't tested that theory yet," Sirius admitted. Seeing the look on Harry's face, he quickly added, "He's been here for the last week or so, and he hasn't tried anything. And he's acting just like James acted… when I knew him at Hogwarts and everything. It _is _James, Harry!"

Harry wanted desperately to believe his godfather—he had always wanted a family (and no, the Dursleys did _not _count). But what if Sirius just wanted his best friend to be alive so much that he had tricked himself into thinking that this Death Eater was James?

"How do you know he's not a Death Eater impersonating my dad?" Harry demanded. "Does he _look _thirty-five, like he's supposed to be?"

"Well… no. But the curse that he was placed under is supposed to make you look like how old you were all through the time you're under the curse… I mean, your appearance isn't supposed to change, no matter how many years pass!"

"But what if it's a Death Eater?" Harry wanted to know.

"It's not, OK? Trust me on this, Harry. I _know _your dad. He was my best friend at Hogwarts and after. And I _know _it's James."

It was a long time before Harry spoke again. He slowly inched towards the door. "I need some time to… think about things," he said slowly, his face carefully blank. And with that, Harry was gone.

Sirius sighed and ran his hands through his hair, a habit that usually belonged to James. Well, Harry knew the news now. At least he hadn't fainted or gone into _complete _denial or anything. Sirius just hoped that James wouldn't be too heartbroken—or at least upset—when he learned of Harry's reaction to those three words: "James is alive."

Sirius left the room, too, to go tell James of Harry's reaction.

* * *

**A/N: **End chapter six. You people better be grateful! I have two quizzes to study for, as well as two projects due tomorrow as well as two projects due the day after tomorrow that I haven't even started yet, and yet I'm updating! I have to go to bed at ten at the latest, and it's almost nine now, and I haven't eaten dinner yet. So you'd better express your internal gratitude by leaving me reviews! ;)

-Morsmordre


	7. Aristocratic Death Eaters and Toads

**A/N: **Well, whaddaya know. I'm updating in a week.

All right, here's the deal:

I update in a week—like now—if I have enough time and if you people (readers) are extremely lucky.

I update in two weeks if I don't have too much to do.

I update in three weeks if I have a considerable amount of homework or extracurricular activities.

I update in a month if I'm rather busy and stuff—not just rather busy, but perhaps _extremely _busy.

I update in over a month if I'm extremely, _extremely _busy and lazy to boot.

I don't update for over a year and I can pretty much guarantee you either I'm abandoning the fic (which I don't plan on doing), or I've died.

And then, even if I did die, Clara can take over.

Not that I'm saying I'll die, of course. Because I won't. Not any time soon, anyway.

Here is the chapter. **Warning: **There is another flashback in here. It's just to take up space, but I like it nonetheless. Dolores Umbridge and Lucius Malfoy are both featured… shan't say no more, or I'll give it away! Hehe. (That grammar was incorrect on purpose, just to let you know.)

* * *

**Chapter Seven of "Returning to Life" **_by Morsmordre_

* * *

James was rather upset when he heard of Harry's reaction to the news.

"So does he hate me? Or blame me for 'dying?'" James moaned. "I knew it! He does, doesn't he?"

"No, he doesn't," Sirius tried to reassure him. "He just needed some time to think about it. I'm pretty sure he was shocked when he heard… you know, because he was used to the fact that his dad was dead. I guess hearing that he's actually alive must have been a great shock and all, and he needed some time to adjust to the fact."

James was not very convinced, but he dropped the subject.

"So when can I see Harry? And do I get answers _now_?" he asked hopefully.

"You'll see Harry soon… probably tomorrow. And you'll get your answers from Harry," Sirius answered both questions.

James nodded, but was unable to suppress the groan that escaped from his lips.

* * *

Anna was busying herself with reading another book in one of the many rooms of Grimmauld Place when Dumbledore walked into that very same room.

"Miss Berkley," he greeted her.

"Albus," she returned stiffly—she hadn't completely "forgiven" him for tricking her into coming back into the wizarding world.

Then Dumbledore said something completely unexpected. He asked, "Would you like to take the Defense Against the Dark Arts teaching position at Hogwarts this year?"

Anna was caught off guard. _"Me?!"_ she sputtered.

Dumbledore nodded serenely.

"_Me_, teaching students? Are you getting mad in your old age?"

Anna knew this was a bit rude, but she didn't really care right now.

"You were a teacher in a Muggle school for the past fourteen years, last time I checked," Dumbledore explained.

"I didn't like it," Anna growled back. "And I don't want to teach a bunch of sniveling brats how to defend themselves against Dark creatures and Death Eaters."

"Why not? You'd be the best person suited for the job. You were an Auror before you left the wizarding world fourteen years ago, were you not?"

Anna digested this information.

"That's true," she admitted. "But why me? Isn't there someone else out there better suited for the job?"

"No," Dumbledore replied, shaking his head. "The Ministry does not believe Voldemort is back."

Anna blinked. "I know that. What does that have to do with anything?"

Dumbledore ignored the question and continued speaking. "They think Harry and I are making up stories and trying to overthrow their government."

"That's ridiculous," Anna muttered.

"Yes, it is, but that's what Cornelius Fudge, the Minister of Magic, believes. So they are ridiculing Harry, and taking away positions of power from me. Now they are trying to enforce the Undersecretary to the Minister of Magic as the Defense teacher at Hogwarts. If I don't find a teacher soon, we'll have to use her."

Anna nodded slowly. She understood this… It wouldn't be good to have a Ministry lackey teaching at the school.

"Who is this undersecretary?" Anna wanted to know.

"Dolores Umbridge. Do you know her?"

Anna nearly choked. "Dolores _Umbridge_?!"

"The very same. Do you know her?" Dumbledore repeated the question.

It was all Anna could do to refrain from rolling her eyes. Dumbledore _knew _the answer to that question, and that answer was: Did she ever…

_Flashback_

_"Look at this!" Maggie Jules, one of Anna's best friends, seethed. She shoved a newspaper—an edition of the _Daily Prophet_—under Anna's nose. "Look at this…" She trailed off, her rage apparently too great for words. _

_"Whoa, chill," Anna retorted, taking the newspaper from Maggie's trembling hand and scanning the article. A frown marred her brow._

_"Can you _believe _that… that bitch?!" Maggie sputtered. "Who does she think she is?"_

_"Dolores Umbridge?" Anna offered. "Perhaps she thinks she's Dolores Umbridge…?"_

_Anna trailed off as Maggie snatched the paper back and stormed out of the office Anna was currently in—the office Anna worked at as an Auror. "I'm going to pay that bitch a little visit…" Maggie snarled._

_"Oh no you're not. Not if I have anything to say about it," Anna warned. Maggie was incredibly scary when she was angry—most people didn't regard the light-brown-haired, blue-eyed, sweet ex-Gryffindor as a threat, but when she was angry… Well, let's just say that her anger could rival Dumbledore's. And that was definitely saying something._

_"Oh yes I am," Maggie shot back, speeding up. Her fists were tightly clenched, her knuckles were white, and the poor, innocent newspaper in her hands was getting crumpled up._

_"You're a Healer, Maggie, and that Umbridge woman works at the Ministry and is on the Wizengamot! She has way more influence than you—if you go and attack her, she'll have you arrested, you know that?"_

_"I'm not going to attack the cow or anything… I'm only just going to have a few words with her," Maggie spat, stressing the word "words."_

_The two women were now out of the office and waiting for an elevator to come. _

_"You are not, Maggie. Not. N-O-T."_

_"Oh yes I am, Anna. I am. Am. A-M."_

_The doors of the elevators dinged, and they opened. A bunch of those Ministry memos flew out and Anna ducked. Maggie grabbed her by the arm and pushed her into the elevator._

_"I am going to kill her," Maggie murmured._

_"You just said you weren't going to do anything but have a few words!" Anna snapped. "I don't want one of my best friends going to Azkaban!"_

_The two women stopped their argument when they suddenly realized just whom they were standing next to in the elevator._

_"Malfoy," Maggie growled._

_"Jules," the blonde aristocrat returned, his pale, pointed face twisted in a sneer. _

_Lucius Malfoy was under the Aurors' list of people to watch, since they were suspected of being Death Eaters. It was really too bad that Malfoy had so much influence at the Ministry of Magic. _

_"So why are you here, Malfoy?" Maggie taunted, lowering her voice so the other people in the elevator wouldn't hear. "Why aren't you reporting back to your master?"_

_"I do not have a master, Mudblood," Malfoy ground out, his teeth gritted. "Malfoys are their own."_

_"I am not a Mudblood. I'm a halfblood," Maggie snapped._

_Lucius said something decidedly unaristocratic about "Mudblood filth."_

_"Take that back," Anna snarled at him. "Take that back, you filthy Death Eater scum."_

_Malfoy turned icy cold eyes towards her._

_"I don't recall speaking to you, Berkley," he said smoothly. "Too bad you're a blood traitor. You could have made a fine servant to the Dark Lord, just like your sister."_

_CRACK._

_Anna had slammed her fist into Malfoy's jaw, her face white with rage. _

_"Don't ever talk about my sister again. Do you understand me, you bastard?" she hissed._

_Malfoy glared at her and clutched his jaw as all the other occupants of the elevator stared at them in shock. But before he could bite out a nasty reply, the elevator doors opened again, and Malfoy stepped out this time._

_"You will pay for that," he sneered (he had great difficulty doing this with a broken jaw, Maggie realized with glee), before the elevator doors slid shut. _

_Everyone else in the elevator was still staring at them._

_"What are you looking at?" Anna asked rather rudely, and they quickly averted their gazes._

_"That was brilliant!" Maggie chortled as the elevator started up again. "The look on his face was priceless!"_

_But as soon as the two friends stepped out of the elevator onto the floor Umbridge's office was located, Maggie's face became a storm cloud once again._

_"Wait until I give her a piece of my mind," she seethed, and sped up again._

_It looked like other people had the same idea. A tall, thin, stunning girl with white-blonde hair was standing in the crowd around Umbridge's office, her pale skin flushed with anger._

_"I'm part-Veela, but I was raised here in Britain just like anyone else!" she screeched. "I'm no danger to anyone, but because of this new… this new Magical Labor Act you passed, I'm to be fired! How is that fair?!"_

_"Very," said a woman who Anna presumed to be Umbridge in a very nasty tone of voice. _

_The first thing Anna thought when she looked at the woman was that she looked like a toad. She was short, squat, and most of all… very ugly._

_"Look, listen here, Umbridge!" Maggie snarled, throwing herself into the fray. "I'm not a half-breed or anything like that myself, but my boyfriend is! He's already having trouble finding work because of that! How dare you pass a… a law saying he's not allowed to find work or be hired?! What is your problem, you… you toad!"_

_Umbridge's face had gone a nasty shade of puce. "Half-breeds do not deserve to live," she spat. "They're all monsters."_

_"Why, I ought to hex you right here and now," Maggie shot back, her own face turning a rather red shade of… er, red. "With stupid, bigoted prejudices like the ones you have, why don't you just do us all a favor and kill yourself?!"_

_There was a shocked silence after those words slipped out of Maggie's mouth. No one had probably ever dared to speak to Umbridge that way before._

_"Why… you," Umbridge stammered, clearly shocked, too. "You… take that back!"_

_"I will not," Maggie spat back in her face. "It's the truth."_

_"Making a ruckus like this right by the Minister's office…" Umbridge gestured to the office of Bartemius Crouch Senior, the Minister of Magic, which was by hers (her office, that is). "You are very disrespectful! You're no better than a filthy half-breed like your werewolf of a boyfriend, as you put it…"_

_Umbridge's words were cut off with a shriek as Maggie whipped out her wand and shouted out a ferocious hex—the Bat Bogey Hex, to be precise._

_"Do I look like I give a fuck?!" she retorted. "Do you think so, you evil cow? No, toad would be a better word to describe you… Toad, cow, bitch… it's all the same to me. I absolutely despise you, you—"_

_"Miss Jules!" It was Senior Auror Moody, who had come to break the whole thing up._

_And the only thing Anna could really think was, _Thank God. If that continued, Maggie would've landed herself in Azkaban.

_End flashback_

"Of course I know her," Anna said carefully, trying hard not to think about her now-deceased friend.

"Well, it would not be good to have her as a teacher at the school, wouldn't you agree?" Dumbledore continued calmly.

Anna sighed. She had lost this round to Dumbledore… again. "Fine. I'll be the Defense teacher."

Dumbledore smiled. "Very good! Lemon drop?" He offered her the tin can.

Anna wanted to strangle someone. "No thanks."

* * *

Harry just couldn't believe it. He really _couldn't _believe it. It wasn't _possible_. His father was _dead_. How could he be alive?

But Sirius said he was alive…

But it wasn't _possible_!

Harry thought about what Sirius had said… that his father had been placed under some sort of spell that made everyone think he was dead. Maybe that really _was_ true…

_Not possible_, argued the logical side of his brain. _Definitely not possible._

_Would Sirius come and tell you this and get your hopes up if he wasn't positive? _retorted the other part of his brain, the part that desperately wanted to believe Sirius.

_Maybe he was fooled!_

_Maybe not._

_Argh! _Harry shook his head, hoping to clear up his jumbled thoughts. He finally made a decision… he would see this person who claimed to be James Potter and he would judge for himself if this person was James Potter or an imposter.

He went downstairs to relay the information to Sirius.

* * *

James was still wondering and worrying—but mostly wondering—about his only, now grown-up son, when Sirius came into the room. "He's ready to see you," Sirius said quietly.

James jumped up from his chair, his heart pumping. "R-Really?" he croaked. His mouth felt dry, and he suddenly had a strange desire for a drink of water.

A wry smiled spread over Sirius's face. "He wants to see if you're an imposter or not."

"Oh." James bit his lip and nodded. Before Sirius could say another word, James had raced out of the room and towards the room Harry was staying in.

His heart still pounding, James knocked three times on the door.

"Come in," he heard a voice say.

His heart threatening to burst out of his chest, James opened the door.

* * *

**A/N: **Hehe… cliffy! You'll just have to wait til next time to see.

Hmm… I wonder how many death threats I'll get…

Basically, just review, will ya? It was a bit rushed, to tell you the truth, so I may edit it again and repost it sometime. So don't be surprised if you get an alert and it's really not another chapter. (But check, just in case:D)

Review!

-Morsmordre


	8. A Chapter with a Very Depressing Ending

**A/N: **Thank you for all of the lovely reviews, people! And here it is… _The Meeting_!

I expect a lot of reviews for this chapter, because it's LONG! (At least for me!) Plus… well… like I said, it's _The Meeting_ of Harry and James!

Plus, I've decided not to rewrite the last chapter. Because I'm lazy. So sue me.

Please read and review!

Plus, there are (kind of) a lot of Alexandra flashbacks in here! (smiles happily—I love that character! Kudos to Clara for making her up!)

**A/N 2: **"Dialogue," _Thoughts or _'Thoughts' (either one, both are used)

**Dedication: **To naomi.black (who used an anonymous review), my 100th reviewer! Sorry not to have dedicated this to you last chapter, but I was in a hurry and I forgot… but look on the bright side, you get the chapter of _The Meeting _dedicated to you instead! (And yes, _The Meeting _is important enough to be put in italics and capitalized. Because I got a lot of "you are cruel, sadistic, and evil" reviews and death threats! Yay! I think…)

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Harry Potter. It's JK Rowling's. So please don't sue me. (Hey, that was a haiku! Hehe.)

* * *

**Chapter Eight of "Returning to Life" **_by Morsmordre_

* * *

James felt as if he were in a dream. 

And not the type of dream where he was doing something, or something weird happened. No, he felt as if he were unattached to his body, floating above the scene that panned out in front of him.

Sitting on the bed in the room James had entered was a boy. The boy had messy black hair, brilliantly bright emerald green eyes, glasses, and a jagged scar that was slashed across, near the center of, his forehead.

In other words, if it weren't for his scar and eyes, he would have looked almost exactly like James.

His eyes were still every bit as green as Lily's.

And said green Lily's eyes (on Harry) were widened with shock.

"Harry?" James asked tentatively, taking a step forward.

This appeared to be the wrong thing to do. Harry shrank away, his eyes still wide.

"Harry, it's me. James. Your father."

This appeared to be the wrong thing to _say_. Harry shook his head. "No," he muttered, his voice croaky.

"No, what?"

"No. You're not my father. My father's dead."

Even though James knew that Harry was only saying this because he didn't know the complete truth, the words still stung like a harsh slap.

"I'm not dead, Harry," James replied, trying to sound gentle. "I'm right here. Alive, too."

Harry shook his head again. "You're not my father," he repeated.

"I am," James answered firmly. "I'm your dad, James Potter, and I'm alive."

Harry frowned slightly, his face still rather pale.

"That's not possible," he muttered. "Dead people don't come back to life."

"That's true," James offered, feeling slightly encouraged. (Just _slightly_.) They were making a little bit of progress in this department. "But I was never dead. Voldemort just placed me under some sort of spell that put me in a coma, and made everyone think I was dead."

Harry seemed like he was struggling to find words. James noticed that his son hadn't flinched at the use of the name _Voldemort_.

"That's what Sirius said," Harry finally choked out.

"Well, he's right," James told him. _Please believe me… I'm really not lying._

There was another pause. Then Harry blurted out, "Can you change into Prongs?"

James frowned. "What?" he asked, wondering if he had heard Harry correctly. Had Harry really said what he thought he had said…?

"Can you change into Prongs?" Harry repeated.

James's heart soared. So Harry knew about his Animagus form! "Yes," James answered Harry's question.

Harry gave him a defiant look that said quite plainly, _Prove it._

James concentrated on his Animagus form. He hadn't tried to change into Prongs in what seemed like forever. But he was positive he could do it.

He heard a small _pop_, which elicited a gasp from Harry. James looked down and say hooves instead of hands or feet.

Yup, he could still do it.

James—as a stag—looked up at Harry, who was staring down at him. Harry's mouth was opening and closing, as if he was trying to say something, but his throat didn't seem to be working properly.

Prongs leaned forward and nudged Harry's hand. That seemed to break the (almost-)fifteen-year-old boy's stupor. He leaned down and petted the stag's head tentatively and slowly, as if he were in a trance.

Prongs transformed back into James and grabbed Harry's shoulders. Harry flinched but didn't shrug his hands away.

That did it. James pulled his son into a hug and resisted the urge to break down into tears or whatever it was that he wanted to do now. Harry stiffened, but slowly melted into the embrace.

Father and son stayed like that for a long time.

* * *

That night, Harry went to sleep with a smile on his face. 

_Dream_

_Voldemort was sitting in a high-backed chair in a large room in what clearly was an old, unused manor. Dust was settled in the nooks and crannies of the room._

_Cowering in front of the pale man with the long, spindly fingers and the blood-red eyes was another man. This man was short and going bald. He had the look of someone who had once been plump but had lost a lot of weight in a small amount of time. He looked awfully like a rat._

_"Wormtail," a voice hissed._

_The voice came from the man sitting in the chair (Voldemort). The voice sounded like a snake hissing something menacing. The man dubbed Wormtail seemed to think so too, because he flinched, but nodded frantically nonetheless._

_"Yes, my lord?" he squeaked, even sounding like a rat. _

_The pale, spindly fingers curled around one of the armrests of the chair Voldemort was sitting in. The fingers of the other hand wound themselves around a long thirteen-inch phoenix feather yew wand._

_"It has come to my attention," Voldemort continued speaking, "that your dear friend __Prongs__ is alive." He emphasized the nickname "Prongs" and was rewarded with a rather obvious flinch. _

_"H-How, my lord?" Wormtail asked, shifting nervously from where he was kneeling on the floor._

_"Stand up when I speak to you, Wormtail," Voldemort drawled, his fingers twirling his wand around._

_"Y-Yes, m-my lord," Wormtail stammered, scrambling to his feet from his position on the floor. _

_"Repeat what you just said," Voldemort ordered, sounding bored._

_"H-How did he come back to life?" Wormtail stuttered out._

_Voldemort smiled lazily. "Speak his name, Wormtail. You'll be seeing your dear friend James Potter again, anyway. There is no chance I would allow you to miss meeting him again for the first time in… what is it? Fourteen years?" It was, of course, a rhetorical question. Voldemort was just playing around with Wormtail, and Wormtail knew it. Therefore, he remained silent._

_"Isn't it, Wormtail?" Voldemort demanded coldly._

_"Y-Yes, my lord."_

_"You'll be seeing him again. You can express your gratitude to him then, by telling him about how you entered my service, and maybe I shall even give you the honor of killing him." _

_"W-What are you planning, my lord?"_

_Blood-red eyes narrowed into slits. "I want you to find and capture James Potter for me and bring him back here. Alive."_

_End dream_

Harry woke up. His scar was threatening to burst his head open, and his throat ached.

"Harry! Harry! Are you alright?"

Harry blinked at the sudden light that flooded the room and squinted his eyes. He could see Ron, Hermione, Sirius, Remus, and his father standing there near the foot of his bed, all of them looking worried.

"You were thrashing about and moaning in your sleep," Ron said, his face pale. His red freckles stood out even more against his unnaturally white skin. "What was that about?"

"Was it a vision?" Hermione asked suddenly.

Harry swallowed a few times before answering. After all, his throat still hurt. "Yes," he finally croaked out.

"What do you mean, vision?" James demanded sharply. "What visions?"

No one really paid him any attention. "You ought to tell Dumbledore. He'll know what to do," Sirius urged.

Harry looked up sharply. "Dumbledore? He's here?"

"Yes," Remus confirmed. "He's right downstairs."

Harry felt his mind spinning. Dumbledore was here, in Order of the Phoenix headquarters? Nobody had ever bothered to tell him. He had only seen Dumbledore once, at the Order meeting that had taken place when Harry had first gotten here, at Grimmauld Place, and it hadn't been just his imagination—Dumbledore had been avoiding eye contact with him the whole time, no matter how hard he tried to get it. In fact, it seemed as if Dumbledore had been avoiding him the whole time since he had gotten here. What was that all about?

"I'll go get him," Remus offered.

Harry shook his head, his mouth going dry again. "No," he muttered. He wasn't sure if he was ready to speak to the old headmaster. Yet, anyway.

Remus looked at him sharply, his intense gaze boring into Harry's, as if prying for answers. Harry avoided eye contact with him, like Dumbledore had been doing with Harry. "Are you sure?"

Harry nodded.

"All right," Remus agreed reluctantly. "Do you want to share what that was about?"

Harry shook his head.

"We'll be here if you need us, mate," Ron said sympathetically, sort of patting Harry on the back awkwardly, before he left the room. Hermione smiled at Harry comfortingly, too, before following. Remus and Sirius left the room as well, but James remained.

"Harry, are you all right?" James asked worriedly.

Harry nodded again. "I'm fine," he muttered, avoiding his father's gaze. He didn't think he was ready to start calling his father "Dad," but "James" didn't seem right either.

"What was that about? What visions were you talking about?"

Harry bit his lip before finally deciding to tell his father the truth. "Sometimes I get visions of what Voldemort's doing, because of this scar." Harry pushed the fringe away and pointed to the jagged lightning bolt scar slashed across his forehead. "When Voldemort gave me the scar, he put a bit of himself in me. At least that's what Dumbledore said. Now we have a mind link. Sometimes I see what he's doing, like what just happened then. I get the visions through dreams."

James looked shocked. Harry couldn't blame him. It wasn't every day you found out that your only son—a son who had grown up in what seemed like a short amount of time to you—had a mind link with one of the darkest wizards ever.

"Harry…" James started speaking.

Harry plowed on. "He was talking to Wormtail." His eyes darkened a bit at the mention of Wormtail's name, and James let out a noise that sounded like a cross between a growl and a snarl. "He was taunting Wormtail about you being alive, and he told Wormtail that he wanted him to capture you for him."

The full meaning of the words seemed to hit the two Potters at the same time. "He knows you're alive," Harry suddenly gasped. "I don't know how, but he knows you're alive. And he's planning to capture you."

Harry had never felt more grateful for a father in his lifetime before.

* * *

Life passed on at Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place. Harry began to get used to having a father, a godfather, a god-wolf, as Sirius and James both joked, a sort of godmother (Anastasia Berkley), and said sort-of godmother's twin sister who happened to be an ex-Death Eater. 

Harry sometimes still expected to go to sleep and wake up to find out that his father wasn't really alive, and that it had all just been a very pleasant dream. But he would go downstairs to the Grimmauld Place kitchen and find his father sitting there, reading the Daily Prophet, complimenting Mrs. Weasley on her cooking skills (in which she would just blush), or saying something to annoy Sirius, who had gotten over the fact that his best friend was actually alive rather quickly and was now beginning to act kind of like a teenager—definitely much more carefree than before. Because of Azkaban, and all that. But not by that much.

One day, Sirius, Remus, James, Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny were sitting around in one of the many rooms of Grimmauld Place that seemed to hold no purpose except for just to be there (translation: take up space). Bottles of butterbeer littered the glass table in front of the chairs that the seven of them were sitting in, and James and Sirius were telling a story about a particularly spectacular prank that they had pulled in their sixth year, a few days before Halloween.

"And then," James reminisced, still laughing, "Snivellus was covered in the paint!"

Ginny, Ron, James, Sirius, and Harry broke out into laughter again. Hermione and Remus both looked slightly disapproving, but neither of them could stop the slight smile that curled up their lips.

"And then," James continued, still laughing a bit, "Lily shows up and…" he trailed off, all traces of laughter gone from his face.

"James?" Sirius asked, looking rather worried.

"I'm tired," James said shortly. His face had turned rather pale and it was devoid of any obvious emotion. "I'm going to bed. Good night."

"But it's only seven—" Sirius began to object, but stopped talking when Remus shot him a rather obvious look.

"I won't stop you, then. Good night," Sirius said quietly, as James practically fled the room.

There was a short, uncomfortable silence. Then Remus said quietly, "We've had fourteen years to come to terms with Lily's death. James has only had two weeks, and he's not ready to face the fact that Lily's never coming back."

Needless to say, there wasn't much cheerful conversation after that.

* * *

Another few days passed. It didn't take Harry long to learn that Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place, also known as The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black, or Order of the Phoenix headquarters, was the house of a dark wizard. 

It wasn't that Sirius was a dark wizard. It was just that, apparently, the Black family had been like the Malfoys—chock full of Slytherins who cared more about blood purity than anything else.

Harry was now examining the Black family tapestry along with Sirius. James, Remus, Ron, Hermione, Ginny, Mrs. Weasley, the Weasley twins, Dumbledore, the Berkley sisters, assorted Order members, etc, were all off somewhere else in the large manor-like house doing other things.

"See?" Sirius said darkly, pointing at a few names printed near the bottom of the tapestry. "My cousin Narcissa married Lucius Malfoy and had that git's son."

"You're related to Draco Malfoy," Harry realized, his eyes widening.

His eyes roamed around the rest of the tapestry. Bellatrix Black was connected to Rodolphus Lestrange…

Lestrange… where had he heard that name before?

Suddenly Harry remembered what he had seen in Dumbledore's Pensieve last year… about Bellatrix Lestrange and the Longbottoms…

"And my brother, Regulus Arcturus Black," Sirius continued in an almost gloomy tone of voice, oblivious to Harry's shock and dismay, "was a bloody stupid git—he joined the Death Eaters."

Harry turned to stare at Sirius with wide eyes.

"My cousin Andy—that's Andromeda Black—married a Muggleborn, Ted Tonks, though," Sirius added, plowing on. "They had Nymphadora Tonks—yes, that's the pink-haired Auror who went to pick you up from the Dursleys," Sirius answered Harry's unspoken question. "She was blasted off the tapestry for being a blood traitor… Andy, I mean, not Tonks…"

Harry looked at the space above the fringe of the tapestry, searching for Sirius's name. Next to Regulus Black, Sirius's brother's name, there was a charred burn mark where Sirius's name should have been. It was the same for the space next to Narcissa Black and Bellatrix Black's names.

"Is that what happened to you?"

"Yeah… I ran away from home after fifth year," Sirius muttered, glaring at the tapestry viciously.

"You ran away?"

"Yeah. I couldn't stand it here."

"Sirius, Harry, come down for lunch!" Mrs. Weasley's voice shouted from the downstairs Grimmauld Place kitchen.

Harry ignored her as well as his grumbling stomach. "Where did you go?"

Sirius shrugged and kicked at the wall for no apparent reason. "Your grandparents' house, Potter Manor. They took me in like a second son. Just ask James."

Harry felt a warm glow at the thought of his now-alive father, but diminished it quickly, wanting to hear what Sirius had to say.

It appeared Sirius was done talking, though. He snuck a glance at Harry, then quickly turned away, as if he wanted to say something but wasn't sure if he should say it or not.

"Sirius, Harry, lunch!" Mrs. Weasley's annoyed voice hollered again.

Sirius headed towards the staircase, and Harry followed.

* * *

Now that Harry knew for sure that Sirius's blood family had been a bunch of pureblood bigots like the Malfoys were, he would have to expect things like dark objects or dark creatures in wardrobes to pop up or whatever. So he didn't know why he was so shocked when he first met Kreacher, the Blacks' old house elf. 

Harry remembered what Ron had told him in second year—that most rich pureblooded families always had at least one house-elf. Like the Malfoys had had Dobby, until Harry had freed Dobby. But yeah, the Malfoys had had a house-elf.

So did Crouch, Harry thought disdainfully. But that wasn't the point here.

The Potters had had house-elves too, Harry had been told. During one of the many days in which Harry had been told stories of his father's childhood and his father's days at Hogwarts as well, he had learned about the Potters' house-elves at Potter Manor. There was Binky, who made a lot of the food James liked all the time, Matty, who had been James's personal caretaker when he had been just a little boy, Skippy, who had been the one to clean James's bedroom for him sometimes, and even more house-elves than that. Harry had delighted in these stories and soaked them all up like a cleaning rag would soak up dirty water.

So he had known that most rich pureblood families would have at least one house-elf. The Blacks should not be an exception. There were even heads of dead house-elves hanging on one of the walls near the entrance hall of Grimmauld Place.

So why was Harry so surprised to meet a live house-elf here in the Black ancestral home?

(Rhetorical question.)

Harry's first encounter with Kreacher was not a particularly pleasant one. Mrs. Weasley had finally gotten over the fact that yes, James was _alive_, and was now forcing everyone to clean the house. To quote her, "It's filthy, and I won't have it that way." Even James, the newly-returned-from-the-dead, or-sort-of, was not spared from her almost fanatical and unhealthy obsession with making Grimmauld Place resemble something that actually looked like a pleasant place to live in. And believe me, that would be an incredibly hard task to accomplish.

Anna, as Harry had learned to call her, was wearing old robes and leaning on the floor, scrubbing out some of the dirt and grime littered over it. Alexandra, whom Harry couldn't quite bring himself to call Alex yet, no longer looked like Death Eater royalty (Harry still couldn't quite get over the fact that she had been a _Death Eater_) as she sat beside her sister, also scrubbing vigorously at the floor, a still rather haughty look on her aristocratic features. Sirius, Remus, and James were getting rid of the old things in the room. And Ginny, Mrs. Weasley, Ron, Harry, Ginny, and the Weasley twins were literally tackling the curtains, which had been declared to be filled with doxies… some sort of creature that Harry didn't really understand about. Instead, he opted to help his father, godfather, and… uh, Remus (he couldn't bring himself to call Remus a god-wolf, like Sirius and James had insisted he should—Harry still wasn't sure if they had been joking or not) get rid of the old Black family things.

As he shuffled through boxes and piles of papers and things, occasionally turning to see Mrs. Weasley spray a doxy with some sort of substance that froze them, or to see Fred (or maybe it was George?) stick a doxy in his pocket, "for our joke shop," Fred (or George… whoever it was) mouthed at Harry, winking and giving him a thumbs-up sign to show that all was good and well or something like that.

It was then that a low, raspy voice croaked, "Oh, my poor Mistress, what she would say if she saw all these blood-traitors befouling her ancestral home…"

Harry literally jumped about a foot in the air.

"Kreacher!" Sirius barked.

Harry blinked and turned to see a very old and very ugly house-elf wearing a sort of rag tied around his middle, and nothing else, step out of the shadows. The house-elf glared at them all.

"That's Kreacher, the Blacks' old house-elf," Remus explained in a low voice. "He tends to be on the… dark, eccentric side. He's still completely devoted to Sirius's mother and… well, you saw what her portrait was like. Sirius hates Kreacher."

Harry nodded in understanding. Yes, Sirius's mother seemed like a horrible old hag, and yes, he understood Sirius's relationship with Kreacher—it would probably be like how Dobby felt about the Malfoys, and vice versa.

Still, he couldn't believe how shocked he had been about the house-elf. He had literally _jumped_, for Merlin's sake.

Before Harry could ponder on any other of his thoughts, Hermione spoke to Kreacher.

"Hello, Kreacher," she greeted the old house-elf rather pleasantly and politely. "How are you?"

Kreacher blinked, and then muttered in a low voice not quite so under his breath, "The Mudblood is talking to Kreacher. Kreacher will pretend he does not hear the Mudblood speaking to him."

"Kreacher!" Sirius snarled.

Kreacher blinked again. "Yes, Master?" he asked in tones of deep disgust, but bowing low at Sirius all the same.

"If you're going to hang around here, you might as well help us clean this house," Sirius snapped.

Kreacher blinked again, twice, before bowing again. "Kreacher does clean. Kreacher has been cleaning all day." Once again, not quite under his breath, he put in, "Kreacher will not take orders from the blood traitor. He refuses to. No, Kreacher serves only his Mistress…"

"Right, you clean," Sirius scoffed skeptically. "If you clean all day, then why is this house so filthy?"

Kreacher said nothing, but you could still hear him muttering things about Mistress, half-bloods, blood traitors, Mudbloods, and half-breeds.

"Right," Sirius decided. Then he raised his voice. "Get out, you stupid house-elf!" he snarled.

Kreacher turned around, shuffling away obediently. "Kreacher will do as Master says…" in a lower tone, he added, "Although Kreacher does not want to serve the blood traitor… Kreacher heard he is a murderer…"

"And I will be a bloody murderer if you don't stop muttering!" Sirius called after him, slamming the door after Kreacher particularly hard. "Stupid house-elf," he muttered not quite under his breath, not unlike Kreacher.

Anna just stared at Sirius through calculating, narrowed eyes.

* * *

Alexandra wasn't quite sure what to make of her life anymore. 

She had been a perfect pureblood Berkley daughter—she attended their pureblood parties, behaved like a pureblood, and she was completely respectable. She had been planning to grow up, make a respectable pureblood marriage, produce heirs to the line she would marry into, grow old, and die.

Guess what?

Yup, you guessed right… it didn't quite turn out that way.

When she had entered Hogwarts, she had fully expected to be Sorted into Slytherin. She remembered the Sorting Hat's words to her, however, that had been whispered into her ear…

_Flashback_

_"Hmm… this is a tough one… I see plenty of ambition, but no, you don't have uncommon goals, and I also spot plenty of intellect… so where shall I put you?"_

_'Slytherin,' Alexandra Berkley pleaded to the hat. She was a small eleven-year-old then, with white-blond hair and practically a permanent sneer etched on her face. She had no sneer on her face then, however—just a worried look._

_"Yes, Slytherin would be a good place for you…"_

_'Thank you,' Alexandra thought, feeling relieved. 'So just hurry up and put me there.'_

_"…but not good enough," the Sorting Hat finished its thought._

_'No, Slytherin! Please!'_

_"However, the intellect portion of your mind weighs out anything else…"_

_Alexandra shook her head frantically, like she was trying to block out a buzzing noise, or like she was trying to shoo a pesky fly away from her head. 'Please, Slytherin, nowhere else…'_

_"No, I trust that you will make wise choices and decisions in life. No, the best place for you shall be RAVENCLAW!" the hat shouted this out to the rest of the hall._

_Alexandra pulled the Sorting Hat off her head and walked, in the most dignified manner that she could, to the Ravenclaw table, instead of the green-and-silver-clad one that she had expected she would be sitting at. She had never hated anything as much as she hated the Sorting Hat at that moment._

_End flashback_

"Wise choices and decisions in life," Alex muttered out loud to herself. She rolled her eyes. "That's rubbish. Look where it got me."

She glanced around the room she was currently situated in. It was just another typical room in the Black ancestral home. She still remembered being in Grimmauld Place before, when the Berkleys had been invited to one of the Blacks' respectable pureblood parties…

_Flashback_

_"The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black," Julia Selena Berkley announced to her twin daughters, Anastasia Isabella and Alexandra Katerina. "They are most respectable. Their son, Sirius Black, is your age. He is heir to the Black fortune. Please treat him with respect."_

_Alex nodded. She would do her mother proud. Anna, however, simply rolled her eyes behind their mother's back when she wasn't looking. Alex could just practically hear her eight-year-old twin sister's thoughts: 'What a load of rubbish. The only words I hear around here nowadays are "pureblood" or "respect." I hate my life sometimes.'_

_Alex frowned, wondering why her sister was being so rude, but before she could ask, they had entered the room._

_The first—and only—thing Alex noticed about the walls were that they were covered with the heads of dead house-elves._

_Another rule in Berkley life: Don't ask questions. To put it quite simply, Alex followed Berkley rules. Anna did not._

_"Why do they have dead house-elf heads up there on the wall?" Anna asked, looking both curious and repulsed. "That's… repulvise!" _

_"Repulsive," Mrs. Berkley corrected automatically. "It's repulsive, Anastasia, not… not repulvise, as you said."_

_"Repulsive, then. Whatever," Anna agreed amiably. "Wait… you never answered my question. What? I mean, what did you say?"_

_"Don't say 'what,' Anastasia. Say 'excuse me.' "_

_"Fine then. Excuse me, but what did you say, Mother?"_

_"I did not answer your question. It was an incredibly rude one, and does not deserve to be answered. Now let us go meet the Black family." _

_So they did._

_There was Andromeda Black, the oldest of the lot. She was a fourteen-year-old who had been Sorted into Ravenclaw._

_'I don't want that,' Alex had thought immediately to herself._

_Then came Bellatrix, who had recently started her first year of Hogwarts. She was a Slytherin._

_Then came Narcissa, the only blonde. She was small, frail, and delicate-looking, with a pointed nose and ice-cold blue eyes—yes, blue eyes, not the trademark Black gray. (Black gray… that sounded strange. Not proper at all, like everything pureblood was supposed to be.)_

_Then there were the Black brothers—the oldest one was the heir to the Black ancestral home._

_Regulus Black was introduced first. He just looked like… a small, afraid boy, and nothing else. _

_Sirius Black, it turned out, was temporarily unavailable. He was being punished for something he had done to his little brother while babysitting said little brother._

_Apparently, after some conversation with Mrs. Black, Mrs. Berkley confirmed that Walburga did not particularly favor her oldest son._

_However, Sirius was finally "available." He came down from his room, looking rather disgruntled about something. He had black hair that fell almost elegantly over his cool gray eyes, and he had the pointed, aristocratic, but good-looking face of every other Black in the room._

_And he was heir to the Black fortune._

_It was then that an eight-year-old Alexandra Katerina Berkley decided she would marry Sirius Black when she grew up._

_She kept these thoughts to herself, however. Because it wouldn't be proper nor respectable to share these thoughts and feelings with anyone else._

_End flashback _

Alex nearly laughed out loud at the thought of her eight-year-old self's naïveté. She would marry Sirius Black, suuuuuuuuuuuuure! And it turned out, in the end, it was Anna who got him. Not that she had really had any feelings for the oldest Black boy or anything. But she had been foolish then. Marry Sirius Black, indeed!

And Sirius Black had been the one to help her, when she knew no one else would have… but unfortunately, it had been too late…

Alex shook her head. She'd better get started at the beginning of the whole affair then, if she was going to spend her time reminiscing…

_Flashback_

_"The Dark Lord does not bode well to Mudbloods and blood traitors," a low voice was saying quietly. The voice had a distinct aristocratic drawl to it. "Are you sure you want to join, even if you are a filthy halfblood yourself, Snape?"_

_"I would do anything for the Dark Lord," another voice answered. This voice was smooth—but not a nice shiny smooth, more of an oily, greasy, try-to-trust-me-even-though-I'm-untrustworthy smooth. "I shall do anything to prove my worth to him."_

_"Very well," a new voice joined in. "We shall inform the Dark Lord of your wishes to join him. You shall be… received, shall we say, very soon, if you are approved."_

_Alex's grip tightened on the doorframe. She had simply been passing by, to get her Charms book, which she was positive she had dropped in this corridor. But she had heard voices, and she had gone investigating…And she had soon realized that it had been a very bad idea…_

_Suddenly she felt an odd urge. She soon realized with horror that it was the urge to sneeze. She tried to hold it back, but…_

_"What was that?" the first voice hissed angrily. "Is someone there?"_

_"I think someone has been listening in to our conversation," Snape—who was in Alex's year, and he was the owner of the untrustworthy oily voice—offered._

_Alex tried to creep away quietly, but when the door opened fully, she broke into a full-on run, hoping she wouldn't be caught and/or recognized._

_No such luck._

_A hand gripped her wrist tightly and jerked her back. Alex whirled around, ready to strike the offender, but another hand reached out and wrapped itself around her other wrist. Using this advantage over her, the Death Eater slammed her against the wall. _

_"Have you heard everything we said?" he hissed._

_The man had pale, cold gray eyes and white-blond hair. It was Lucius Malfoy._

_Alex felt fear grip her insides and squeeze hard. She felt as if she was drowning, for some reason, and she would've thought it too, if it weren't for the fact that she was on land. She shook her head numbly._

_Malfoy's grip on her wrists tightened. "Do not lie to me," he said. It was a command, an order, and she had no choice but to obey._

_Alex nodded resignedly and squeezed her eyes shut, wondering what was to become of her. _

_"Do you know what we do to eavesdroppers?" the third Death Eater who was not Snape asked rhetorically. He had a scratchy, rough voice and dark-lidded looks. It was Rodolphus Lestrange._

_"Please let me go," Alex begged. It was not befitting to a Berkley, but she had to get out of here, and fast…_

_Lucius Malfoy's hands tightened over her wrists even more. He was practically cutting off her circulation. "Do you know?" he asked in a deadly whisper._

_Snape had come up behind them and was giving Alex a cold, calculating look. She glared at him defiantly. If she was going to be injured, then at least she could be injured when she was being brave, even though she was a Ravenclaw, and not a Gryffindor, and therefore about as brave as a clamshell…_

_"That girl," Snape suddenly spoke up. "She is a Berkley."_

_"A Berkley, did you say?" Malfoy had finally loosened his grip. Alex felt a wave of relief wash over her—if he had held on any tighter, she would've just about died from blood loss in her hands. He looked at her almost appraisingly. "Well, why didn't you say so?" His eyes narrowed. "But you are not a Slytherin."_

_"A Ravenclaw," Alex returned. Maybe she wouldn't die today after all. Hmm, that would certainly be a good thing… not dying. Yes, good thing indeed. _

_"Give her a chance to speak," Snape suggested, never taking his coal-black eyes off her. It was quite a bit unnerving, to say the least. _

_Alex swallowed. She would lie, and try to play her cards right. And then they would let her go. So she decided to let her brain take over and blurt out the first thing that came to mind:_

_"I was passing by and I heard you talking. It sounds interesting. I would like to join the Dark Lord's service too."_

_Alex instantly regretted her decision of letting her brain say whatever the hell it liked. Because she did not like the idea of where this was going._

_"You do?" Lucius Malfoy was now staring at Alex intently, too. "Then why did you run?"_

_"I wanted to stay alive," Alex replied dryly, giving him a hard look. "I don't think I could join anything if I was dead." Then she wanted to smack herself for saying that._

_The corners of Malfoy's thin lips curled up. He turned to Rodolphus Lestrange. "We have two people who would like to enter the Dark Lord's service now," he said, passing on the information. "Inform him." Then, to Alex, he said two rather simple words: "You'll do."_

_End flashback_

A spur of the moment decision that she had seriously regretted. No wonder Alex wasn't a Gryffindor, like her sister. She didn't have an ounce of brave blood in her at all.

Which was why she hadn't backed out of the plan. She had convinced herself that being a Death Eater wouldn't be that bad… all she had to do was kiss the hem of some bastard's robes occasionally in meetings and kill Muggles. And keep up her front, so no one would figure it out.

But it wouldn't matter, the killing Muggles part, that is. Because they were only Muggles, right? Not real human beings.

Suuuuure, riiiight…

_Flashback_

_"Are you willing to take the Dark Mark?" Voldemort hissed._

_Alex had already met him before, but she still couldn't get over how scary he was. Pale white skin, so bony that his head looked like a skull, blood-red eyes, long, thin fingers… he was bloody __scary._

_Alex knew that she should back out of the plan now. She would die a hero and go live a nice … er, death in the afterlife or whatever. But she was no Gryffindor. She was a Ravenclaw, and stuck with it._

_"Yes."_

_It hurt like hell when the Dark Mark burned onto her skin. She gritted her teeth to keep from crying out in pain as the skull-and-snake shape showed up onto her creamy white skin on her left wrist. It hurt so much that she wanted to cry._

_But she didn't. She never cried._

_End flashback_

Sure, killing Muggles would be easy… uh-huh… yup… she had just been trying to convince herself. All those years.

_Flashback_

_"Lady, please don't kill me," the small boy begged. He had on bloodstained clothes, from all of the killing that was going on out there. Some of it was his own blood, and some of it wasn't—some of it was other people's—Muggles'—blood. It was a Muggle village massacre, Death Eater style, and Alex was involved. _

_"Please, don't kill me! I gotta protect my little sister… she's visiting my gramma, and I gotta protect her! Please, lady, I'll do anything…"_

_Alex stared down at the groveling boy who had thrown himself at her feet. But he didn't seem to just be begging for his own life to be spared. His little sister seemed to be real, and that really did seem to be the reason the Muggle boy didn't want to die. He wanted to protect his little sister from the harsh realities of the big, bad world. _

_'Too late, kid,' she thought._

_The boy was sobbing at her feet. Alex felt trapped._

_She felt for him, she really did. She had never thought Muggles would seem so… human. But they did. They were just like wizards, only with a bunch of strange contraptions, and minus the magic._

_One thing was for sure… this was much harder than she had originally thought it would be._

_"Berkley, are you going to kill the brat or not?" Bellatrix Lestrange, wife of Rodolphus, called out from somewhere else there in the ruined village with a sneer. "Are you going soft?"_

_Alex bristled at the insult. She couldn't help it. It was in her nature._

_"Please, lady…" the Muggle boy sobbed._

_Alex looked at Bellatrix, who smiled cruelly, and made a slashing motion with her wand. An old Muggle man let out a moan. Blood was seeping from his head._

_Alex looked back down at the boy again. She felt sick, seeing either person—Bellatrix, the boy, or the dying old man._

_She made a decision._

_'I'm sorry.'_

_"Avada Kedavra!" _

End flashback 

Alex had done plenty of hard things in her life. But that had been by far the hardest.

_Flashback_

_Her heart was still beating fast. Her blood was pumping, her face was heated up, and she felt as if she had just run a three-minute-mile. Which, in a way, she kind of had been._

_'I have just defied the Dark Lord and I got away with my life. Pettigrew is the traitor. I have just defied the Dark Lord and I got away with my life, and Pettigrew is the traitor, the Order of the Phoenix/Death Eater spy.'_

_Alex could only think of one thing to sum up her situation: "Bloody hell."_

_Very improper and un-Berkley-ish. But she didn't give a damn._

_'I have to warn them about Pettigrew. He told the Dark Lord' (being a Death Eater for almost four years made her think of him that way) 'where the Potters are living. I have to go warn them. Bloody hell.'_

_The thought was so ridiculous, she would have laughed, if it weren't for the fact that she could be captured and killed at any moment. And the huge clincher?_

_She didn't even care._

_Let her damn life end, for all she cared. She had nothing to live for. Everyone hated her._

_'I want to do at least one good thing before I die. I'm going to go warn them. I'm going to go warn the Potters that the Dark Lord knows where they are—Godric's Hollow—and he's out to get them. Now.' _

_Bloody sodding hell._

_'Let's see… there is not a chance in the seven depths of hell that I'm going to go to the Potters themselves. Lupin, their werewolf friend?…No. My sister would curse me to oblivion—into the next century, and she would even go to the trouble of hexing herself there just so she could kick my Death Eater arse back. That leaves… Sirius Black. Yes, my sister's fiancé. He'll have to do. Hopefully he'll listen…'_

_Bloody, bloody hell. _

_She showed up at Sirius Black's flat and pounded on the door as hard as she could. She knew she looked like a mess. And no, she did not care._

_The door opened. Sirius stood there, just as good-looking as he had been thirteen years ago. Only now he was more on the "handsome" side than the "cute kid" side. _

_'How can I think of his bloody looks at a time like this?' _

_Oh, very easily._

_"Alexandra Berkley?" he asked incredulously, staring at her in shock and disbelief._

_"Yes, it's me. No, this is not some trick. Here is my wand. I don't have any other weapons on me, and if you don't believe me, you can check. Unless you count deadly information. Deadly information that I will gladly share with you to warn you, if you will bloody let me come in."_

_He stared at her in shock, and then let her come in._

_She explained everything—yes, __everything__. She told him about the Death Eater conversation involving Snape, Lestrange (the male one), and Malfoy that she had overheard in her seventh year. She told him about her spur-of-the-moment decision, and joining the Death Eaters, and the pleading Muggle boy she had killed, and the fact that she had defied the Death Eaters and the fact that Pettigrew was the traitor. Yes, she spilled her guts out to him. She told him __everything__. She ended with, "And if you don't believe me, use Veritaserum on me." _

_There was a long silence after her story was finished._

_Sirius had only three words to say: "I believe you." And then, "I'm going to go check on Peter now. Make yourself comfortable. I'll be back." And he left._

_Alex had Sirius Black's whole flat to herself. She could do whatever she liked. But all she did was cry. For the first time in four years._

_End flashback_

Oh yeah, a real pureblood marriage. (Note the sarcasm here.)

* * *

**A/N: **Well… that was a depressing ending.

I honestly didn't mean for it to come out that way. It just… did.

She just wormed her way into the chapter. Alexandra wasn't even supposed to be there. But whatever. She is.

Sorry if the whole Harry/James meeting scene was too emotional, or not emotional enough. Or if it was too rushed. I dunno…

And there really was supposed to be stuff in here about Harry finding the—(claps hand over mouth)… I'll shut up now.

Please review! I want at least…um…twenty-five reviews, OK? Because I'm demanding!

…Yeah…

Well, review! This was the longest chapter yet.

-Morsmordre


	9. Sarcastic Snake Things and Revelations

**A/N: **Long time no update. Sorry. I know I'm lazy. I know I suck. No need to tell me in your review, thanks.

**A/N 2: **To the people who _did _review (coughcough), thanks! I'm glad you all seemed to like Harry's reaction… I was hoping it would be realistic and not too, "Hi, I'm your father/I know, I'm Harry/(hug)"-ish. (Haha.) Plus, this chapter is long, too (although not as long as the last chapter)… feel free to thank me for it, though! (Haha.)

**A/N 3: **I'm officially changing my "OK"s to "okay"s. So now they'll say "okay" instead of "OK."

**Disclaimer: **Hmm… do I own Harry Potter? I wish. (Translation: I don't own Harry Potter. Well, except for the books.)

**Warning: **Two total clichés in this chapter. Don't read it if you don't like clichés. Look on the bright side, however… I've put an original twist on one of the clichés… I think it's original, anyway. Kinda. I mean, **grand admiral chelli **(who writes the wonderful story "Harry Potter and the Dream Come True"—if you haven't read it, go read it now, but right after you've read this chapter, of course!) has it kind of like this, but mine will be different, because of it being a—(claps hand over mouth)… I blab too much. But really. No matter how much my plot (and my sort-of-original invention) seems like hers, I swear it will be different in the long run, okay? Swear on my great-grandmother's grave. Eh, even though I never knew her… (starts mumbling)

**A/N 4: **Sorry for so many author's notes. But this is just another note: one part of this chapter is written by my little sister, Clara (who's thirteen. She wanted to help). Can you guess which part? (I bet you can't… our writing styles are very similar…)

* * *

**Chapter Nine of "Returning to Life" **_by Morsmordre_

* * *

Another few days (read: three days) passed at Grimmauld Place. Nothing really exciting happened. 

The days had monotonous schedules—wake up, take a shower, eat breakfast, do homework/help clean the house/have father-son bonding time (read: listen to stories of James's childhood)/etc, help cook lunch, eat lunch, do homework/help clean the house/have father-son bonding time, help cook dinner, eat dinner, Order meeting (on Order meeting days, in which case the younger occupants of Grimmauld Place would try—and fail—to eavesdrop), relax/rest/digest, get ready for bed, and go to sleep.

On the fourth day—which just so happened to be a few days before Harry's fifteenth birthday—something more exciting happened.

As usual, Harry, James, Sirius, Remus, the Berkley sisters, and a slew of Weasleys were cleaning out the Black Manor. In this case, Sirius was trying to get rid of some of his blood family's (read: the Blacks) old things, things that Kreacher apparently liked and were trying to keep.

Sirius wrestled a silver locket away from Kreacher, who burst into noisy tears and shouted some things about blood traitors, a disgrace, and Mistress before practically storming off.

Sirius tossed the locket into the rubbish bin, as well as some other things, such as the Black family crest. Then he leaned down, picked up the box, and handed it to Harry.

"Can you throw this out?" Sirius asked. "Just go to the kitchen and dump it into the garbage. It's all rubbish, anyway; no one has any use for it."

Harry agreed and took the bin from Sirius, and headed to the kitchen.

There was no one else in the kitchen when Harry entered. Harry took the box and set it down next to the garbage can, and he began taking things out and throwing them into the trash.

There was the Black family crest, an old vase, a pair of trousers, (and) the locket that Harry had seen Sirius wrestling away from Kreacher(, and a lot of other things).

The locket was small and round. It was silver, with a pattern of diamonds encrusted around the edge, and a small black snake was attached to it. The snake was curled around a glowing green gem. The eyes of the snake were obsidian and looked almost alive. It was rather creepy.

Harry had just raised his hand to toss the locket into the trash bin as well with the other things when a voice hissed, _"Stop! Don't you dare throw me out, you fool!" _

Harry froze and looked around in a panic. Who had said that?

_"So you do listen," _the voice continued dryly. _"One point to the disfigured scarhead."_

Harry blinked and gaped down at the locket in his hand. That voice… it had sounded like hissing… and it had come from the locket…

_Had the locket just spoken to him?!_

_"Stop gaping down at me like an idiot," _the snake on the locket hissed irritably. When Harry peered closely down at the locket, he saw the eyes flashing a slightly darker shade than usual each time the words were being spoken. _"But then again," _the snake continued, almost conversationally, _"you do seem like an idiot, so I suppose that can be justified…It must be in your nature…"_

_"Are…are you talking to me?" _Harry demanded.

_"No, I'm speaking to that other black-haired, scarred boy right behind you," _the locket responded, sounding highly amused. _"Of course I'm speaking to you, you stupid boy."_

_"But…" _Harry sputtered. _"But… you're a locket! A silver locket! Lockets aren't animated objects, or anything!"_

_"Hmm… I believe there is a little—or perhaps big—thing called magic," _the locket said sarcastically. _"Perhaps that's it?" _

Harry chose not to dignify that with an answer. Instead, he tried a different approach.

_"So… if you're a magical, speaking, sarcastic locket, then why are you here? I mean, what are you doing here?"_ he asked.

_"How should I know? One minute some red-eyed psycho decides to perform an ancient Dark ritual on me, then some black-haired coward steals me and sticks me here, and now an impertinent idiot finds me and starts asking me stupid questions. I'm just an inanimate object, remember? Don't ask me." _

Harry was seriously considering setting the stupid, sarcastic locket on fire by now. (He ignored the fact that while the locket may get scorched, it probably wouldn't actually _catch fire_.) Honestly. It turned out one of the dark things in the Black Manor was a speaking, animate locket—or the snake on the locket could speak. And it just so happened that said snake on locket seemed to love trying to aggravate people. If that was the plan, it had worked.

_"Well, now what am I going to do? I'm the only Parselmouth I know of, besides Voldemort," _Harry muttered. To the snake/locket or whatever it was, he added, _"Can I please just leave you here?"_

_"No," _was the immediate answer. _"Tell me, stupid boy, how many other Parselmouths are there?" _

_"Uh…" _Harry thought a moment. _"Well, actually, I'm the only one I know of. Besides Voldemort."_

_"And who is Voldemort?" _the snake/locket/whatever it was wanted to know.

_"He's this evil megalomaniac who loves going around killing and torturing Muggles, Muggleborns, halfbloods, and purebloods who oppose him. He's bent on world domination, or something. And he's bald, with red eyes. He's creepy looking."_

The snake/locket sighed irritably… or at least gave what could be considered a sigh in Parseltongue. _"I don't like those types. All right, since you are the only other Parselmouth you know of, you will be my new master."_

Harry's mouth dropped open in shock.

_"Close your mouth, idiot," _the snake/locket ordered.

Harry wrenched his jaw shut. _"But… I don't want an evil, cynical, sarcastic snake locket thing! Why can't you find someone else to be your master?"_

The snake sighed (or at least made the closest sound to a sigh in Parseltongue) again. _"You are now my master. I have decided. And you are now bound to me. Try to leave me in the garbage disposal and I will be drawn to you—or worse, you will be drawn to me—in the most painful way possible. So don't even try." _

_"Great. Just great. Sounds lovely."_

_"I know; isn't it?"_

* * *

Harry soon found that there was no way he could tell his father about the snake/locket. James didn't even know Harry was a Parselmouth… yet. And Harry didn't want to tell him. He didn't want to have to recount all the details of his life with the Dursleys, and then all that stuff with the troll, the dragon, the Sorcerer's Stone, being a Parselmouth, the Chamber of Secrets, the dementors/Professor Lupin/Sirius escaping Azkaban/Wormtail fiasco in third year, or the Triwizard Tournament. 

It had been completely unexpected. Harry had become _used _to the schedules of life at Grimmauld Place, headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix. And then he had randomly come across a sarcastic, speaking snake/locket that seemed to love annoying him. And then the snake/locket insisted on having Harry become its master, and binding him to said locket, or whatever. The locket hadn't bothered to explain.

Which was why, late in the afternoon of the day Harry had found said snake/locket, he was taking it out of the pockets of his robes, where he had stuffed it, he was demanding an explanation.

_"First off, who—or what—are you?" _Harry demanded.

The snake lazily blinked its obsidian eyes before answering. _"You may call me Desidian," _it responded.

_"Fine. Desidian. And what are you doing here?"_

_"I believe we have had this conversation before," _Desidian replied dryly. _"Does 'red-eyed psycho' mean anything to you?"_

Red-eyed psycho… who was a psycho with red eyes?… _Voldemort?!_

Harry echoed his thoughts out loud in Parseltongue to his new (unwanted) companion.

_"Congratulations," _Desidian offered sarcastically. _"You may not be as idiotic as I first thought you were."_

Harry politely declined to respond to that comment. Instead, he asked a different question.

_"But Voldemort couldn't have been here," _he pointed out. _"So who put you here?"_

The snake on the locket blinked again. _"Black-haired coward."_

_"You're not talking about Sirius, are you?" _Harry wanted to know.

_"I have no idea who this 'Sirius' person is, but I don't think so."_

_"Riiight…"_

Desidian gave another small, hissy, snake-ish-like sigh. _"So hurry up with your interrogation, idiot."_

_"Is that what you're going to call me now? Idiot?"_

_"So hurry up with your interrogation, Master."_

_"Master?! Why 'Master'?!"_

_"Because you are my master, idiot. Most unfortunately."_

_"Well, if you think it's so unfortunate, then why did you choose me?"_

_"Because I don't like the red-eyed psycho, and you're the only other Parselmouth around. Or perhaps I could teach you a blood ritual to transfer the power to someone else, someone powerful enough to deserve it, who can be my master…"_

_"I don't want to perform a blood ritual, thank you very much. But where did you come from, then?"_

_"I was created by Master Salazar."_

_"…Are you talking about __Salazar__Slytherin__?!"_

_"No, I'm talking about Salazar the pink bunny."_

_"…"_

_"Of course I'm talking about Salazar Slytherin, Master. You really are an idiot. Nothing compared to his genius."_

_"…" _

_"He created me using one of the rarest elements found on the earth. Muggles do not have it in their periodic table of the elements, but—"_

_"How did you know about the Muggles' periodic table of the elements if you were created by one of the biggest Muggle-haters in history? He started an entire trend of Muggle-hating! … And besides, the time of the Hogwarts Founders was before that particular discovery. How did you hear of the Muggles' discoveries if you were here the whole time?"_

_"I wasn't here in this dark, foreboding place for forever since then, idiot Master. And I have my ways of learning things."_

_"So really, what were you made of?"_

_"I was created of one of the rarest elements found on the earth, only visible to magical beings. It is called Living Metal."_

_"… And?"_

_"Living Metal is named Living Metal because that is what it is. Metal that is living. Therefore, I am alive. I can speak. I have a brain."_

_"I hadn't noticed."_

_"Shut up, you impertinent brat."_

_"Oh, sorry. Do go on. I'm not stopping you, although I would like to…"_

_"…"_

_"No, really. Go ahead."_

_"Well, Master Salazar created me with Living Metal, and the rest of me with normal metals and gems, such as the emerald, with its healing properties, and the silver, and the diamonds…"_

_"What do you mean, emerald with its healing properties?"_

_"I mean, emerald with its healing properties."_

_"… Riiight…"_

_"You wouldn't understand, idiot Master. Don't try."_

_"Fine. I won't."_

_"Good job. You may not be as much of an idiot as I first thought you were."_

_"…"_

_"Well, I am all of Master Salazar's weapons."_

_"What does that mean?"_

_"It means I shift forms. I can be a staff, a sword, a shield… and for convenient usage, I can be a ring and a bracelet too. And then there is the locket, which is what you happen to be looking at."_

_"… I see."_

_"No, you don't. I can see it on your scarred face."_

_"My forehead has the scar, not my face."_

_"It doesn't matter. That is irrelevant to our current conversation. Now, as I was saying, I can shift forms. And I can train Parselmouths, because I am the snake, Desidian, and I can speak to the Parselmouth in Parseltongue, the only language I understand, so I can train people. And most unfortunately, 'people' means you."_

_"So, to make a long story short, or to summarize what you just said… you're all of Salazar Slytherin's weapons—you can shift forms, and you're usually a locket or something, because it's easy to carry around without people suspecting something. And you only train Parselmouths. And you're going to train me, because I'm now your master, and I'm going to have to learn how to use the sword and everything."_

_"You said 'to make a long story short,' and that was not particularly short, but you are correct."_

_"… Okay. But what if I don't want to train?"_

_"Too bad. You're going to have to."_

_"Do I have any say in the matter?"_

_"No."_

_"… Just checking."_

* * *

Desidian was true to his word. Early the next morning, Harry was woken up unpleasantly and abruptly from a very nice, fitful sleep. 

_"I want to sleep," _Harry groaned, pulling his pillow over his face and turning away.

_"Get up," _the snake ordered. _"I won't take no for an answer."_

_"How about this?" _Harry suggested sarcastically. _"No."_

A sharp pain jolted through his head the moment the word came out of his mouth.

_"What was that?" _Harry demanded, clutching his head. _"That bloody hurt!" _

_"Be glad Master Salazar swore a lot, or I wouldn't tolerate your bad language."_

Harry refrained from making a very bad comment. _"But really, what was that?"_

_"I have chosen you to be my master now. Therefore, we have a mind link. I can do things like that to you if I wish."_

All of a sudden, Desidian's voice echoed in his head.

::Like this:: the snake's voice said.

Harry blinked, suddenly wide awake.

::So… I can hear you in my mind?::

::Bravo::

::…::

::Basically, yes::

::Okay…::

::Therefore, you can take me with you wherever you go. I can go with you in locket form, and you can speak to me without arousing suspicion::

::Well thought out plan. How long did it take you to think of it?::

::Shut up, idiot Master. It's time to train you now::

::I don't want to train::

::Stop whining like a spoiled child. You're going to train anyway::

::Fine::

::Lock your door. I'm going to shift to sword form now::

Harry had just locked his door (the Muggle way) when he heard a sort of _swoosh _sound. He turned around and his jaw dropped.

Lying on his bed was not the locket that he had been about to throw out just yesterday (even though it really felt a like a long time ago). Instead, replacing the locket was a long, at-least-five-foot-long gleaming silver sword. The handle was encrusted with diamonds, and the emerald was attached to the hilt of the sword. Desidian was curled around the emerald, eyes glowing in a creepy manner.

::Stop staring at me like a gormless idiot, Master:: Desidian ordered. ::Even you don't usually look as stupid as that, despite the fact that I have only known you for one day::

Well, at least it was the same old Desidian.

::Now, take the handle—no, not like _that_! Do you want to cut yourself, idiot Master?::

::Maybe, if it'll aggravate you::

::Do you want to train?::

::Not particularly::

::Well, you will, even if I have to possess you to do it. And believe me, that is not a pleasant feeling::

::Fine. Stupid snake::

::I am not a snake::

::You're right, you're much meaner than the average snake::

::… Be happy I am feeling particularly nice this morning, because I will not take offense to that right now::

::If you're nice now, I don't want to see you angry::

::Believe me, you don't::

::I'll take your word for it::

::Good idea. Always listen to me—I am far wiser than you::

::Normally I would object, but seeing as it's probably true, I'll let that comment slide::

::Go ahead. Now, we begin our training. First, pick up the sword… the _proper _way—not like _that_! You'll cut yourself if you put your hand there!… Yes, like _that_::

Harry picked up the sword and carefully tested it. It was incredibly heavy. Wonderful. How was he supposed to learn how to wield a blade and use it as a weapon if it was _this _heavy? How had he even killed the basilisk in Slytherin's chamber with Gryffindor's sword? He had only been twelve at the time! And now he was (almost) fifteen, and he didn't know how to use this sword!

It was rather ironic. He had killed Slytherin's pet basilisk using Gryffindor's sword, but now Slytherin's weapons/snake/whatever were training him—the idea was ludicrous.

For the first time since Desidian had spoken to Harry, Harry felt a pang of fear. This wasn't just any sadistic, speaking snake… this was _Slytherin's _snake. And sword. And locket. And staff. And shield. And bracelet. And ring. And anything else it was that Desidian had refrained from mentioning.

He remembered what Mr. Weasley had said… _"Never trust anything if you can't see where it keeps its brain."_

Could he trust Desidian? Desidian had been a… a whatever-it-was of _Salazar Slytherin _himself.

And Desidian hated Voldemort, too, if Harry was going to look at all the facts in a well-presented manner.

Or so he (as in Desidian) claimed.

Harry thought about it for a quick moment. He had thought about Mr. Weasley's words when he had received the Marauders' Map from the Weasley twins, and it had turned out okay. And if Desidian was working for Voldemort and/or trying to trick Harry into trusting him, why would he tell Harry about belonging to Salazar Slytherin? That wouldn't really help gain Harry's trust.

Unless Desidian was telling the truth.

::Are you done thinking yet?:: Desidian asked. ::Yes? Good. Now take the sword—_don't point it like that, idiot boy! Do you want to cut yourself?!_::

Harry groaned. Why hadn't he just ignored the snake/locket's orders that day (yesterday) when throwing junk away and just tossed the thing into the trash? A little spur-of-the-moment decision… and it lead to who-knows-how-long-it-will-be of being the master of a very sarcastic Slytherin snake thing. _Yippee, _Harry thought dryly.

Sometimes Harry _hated _the split-second choices he made. Especially if they just so happened to be influenced by Slytherin's Living Metal snake. Or whatever it was.

::All right:: Harry agreed slowly, drawing in his breath sharply and letting it out. ::I don't want to cut myself. Show me how to use it properly::

::You may not be hopeless after all:: Desidian commented.

Harry resisted the urge to chuck the sword out the window. It was hard, but he managed.

* * *

James Potter was feeling particularly happy tonight. All was well. His son was alive. Sirius was alive. Remus was alive. They were all alive. No one hated him or blamed him. Of course, there was the tiny fact that Lily was still dead, and not alive, and the fact that he didn't know what was such a big deal about Harry's life so far that had to be kept so secretive, except for the fact that Harry had witnessed Voldemort's resurrection, but other than that, everything seemed fine. 

So it really came as quite a big shock to James when he walked by Harry's room and poked his head in out of habit of checking on his son at night and saw Harry shaking in his bed, letting out muffled whimpering-like noises.

James practically leaped into action. He began shaking his son. "Harry, wake up! Wake up!" James shouted frantically, shaking Harry's thin shoulders even harder. "It's just a nightmare or something… it's not real! Wake up!"

Harry continued thrashing, his eyes squeezed tightly shut. Then he opened his mouth and a few words wrenched out: "Kill the spare…"

James stopped trying to wake Harry up, his mouth hanging open. _Kill the spare?! _Excuse his language, but what the bloody hell did that mean?

James didn't like the pictures of the scenarios he came up with that could require such a phrase like that.

"Harry!" James shouted in his son's ear. "Wake up!"

Harry sat bolt upright, sweat pouring down his forehead. His eyes shot open and he lurched forward.

"Whoa, calm down! It's just me," James tried to reassure him.

Harry breathed deeply for a few minutes before turning away, looking embarrassed. "Sorry," he muttered.

"There's nothing to be sorry for," James declared firmly. He took a deep breath as well, as if he had been the one to have a nightmare and not Harry. He blinked once and asked in what he hoped was a serious yet casual (if that was possible) voice, "So, what does 'kill the spare' mean?"

Harry turned about three shades paler than he already was. "W-what did you say?" he demanded to know.

James fixed Harry with a look (he could do that even better than Li—er, some people he could, but would not, mention at that moment—when he wanted to). "Harry, if I find my son extremely distressed in his sleep, and I come in and find that he's saying things like 'kill the spare,' I want to know why. That's not just nothing. It's something. I want to know. Tell me."

James knew he shouldn't press Harry for information like this, but he had to know. This was more than just about what Harry had done over the years while James was gone—this was something serious.

Harry gulped, looked down, and fidgeted with the edge of the blanket, but didn't reply.

Then James was reminded of something. "Harry…" he said slowly. "Does this have anything to do with you witnessing Voldemort's resurrection?"

Harry's head shot up from where he had been staring at an imaginary object for the past few moments. "Who told you about that?" he demanded.

James raised an eyebrow. "Judging from your reaction, I would say it does," he commented rather dryly.

Harry looked like he wanted to punch himself but restrained. "Yeah, it does," he finally admitted after a long pause.

"Want to tell me what that nightmare was about?"

Harry hesitated. It was clear he wanted to say no but didn't want to hurt his father's feelings.

"The third task," he finally blurted out.

James furrowed his brow. The third task? What did that mean?

He voiced his question out loud.

Harry winced slightly before responding. "The Triwizard Tournament."

"The Triwizard Tournament?" James echoed. He had heard of that, being an Auror and all (not because he read _Hogwarts, A History_. He hadn't met _anybody_, not even Lily or Remus, who had read that book before). "Isn't that some competition held between Hogwarts and two other wizarding schools in Europe where a champion from each school has to compete against each other in three tasks for points and then whoever wins the most points wins the Tournament, but the Tournament was canceled because of the death toll?"

Harry winced again, clearly expecting James to blow up about something unfair soon. "Ye-es…"

"So…" James didn't see where this was going. "What about the Triwizard Tournament?"

Harry inhaled sharply and let the breath out slowly. "It was held at Hogwarts in my fourth year," he explained.

James still didn't see where this was going. "And…" Really, what could be so bad about the third task of the Triwizard Tournament that his son would have nightmares about it?

Harry sighed; in James's opinion, it was like he couldn't believe that his father _still _didn't get it. "I was in it."

James froze for a moment. "What did you say?"

"I was in it," Harry repeated slowly. "It. You know, as in the Triwizard Tournament. I was in the Triwizard Tournament."

James didn't know what to say for a moment. Finally, he blurted out, "But… but… they canceled the Triwizard Tournament because the _death toll _was too high! Dumbledore wouldn't have allowed it!"

"He didn't," Harry explained gloomily. "But someone put my name in the Goblet of Fire anyway and tricked it."

"Someone put your name in the—the _what_?"

"The Goblet of Fire. It was the 'impartial judge'"—here Harry made quotation marks with his fingers to show that it had been someone else's description—"that would decide who be in the tournament and who wouldn't. Fleur Delacour was the Beauxbatons champion, Viktor Krum was the Durmstrang champion, and Cedric Diggory was the Hogwarts champion…" his voice trailed off.

"What happened?" James urged. "Who put your name in the Goblet of Fire?"

"How about we get to that later?" Harry suggested.

"But what was so bad about the Triwizard Tournament that it gave you nightmares?" James wanted to know.

Harry sighed. "Better get it over with sooner than later, huh?" he muttered.

"Good idea," James advised. It killed him that everyone except him, Harry's own father and closest relation, knew about exactly what had been going on in his own son's life. It was about time he found out. That and the fact that he was concerned about it. Extremely concerned.

"So basically," Harry began, "two other wizarding schools came to Hogwarts, where the Triwizard Tournament was being hosted. Like I said, Fleur Delacour was the champion from Beauxbatons. Viktor Krum—he's a famous Seeker, by the way—was the champion from Durmstrang. Cedric Diggory"—here Harry suddenly appeared slightly nervous while he was saying the name, something James decided to question later—"was the champion from Hogwarts. And then there was me."

"But…" James protested. "But… there's only supposed to be one champion per school!" This just proved how dire he thought the situation was—it took a lot to distract James Potter from a famous Quidditch player.

"I know," Harry agreed. "But someone entered my name in a different, made-up school. So I got entered. And since it's a 'binding contract'—Professor Dumbledore's words—I couldn't get out of it."

James frowned. He was almost positive that Dumbledore could've gotten his son out of the Triwizard Tournament if he had wanted to. He made a mental note to speak with the old headmaster later.

"Continue."

"So there were three tasks. The first task was… well…"

"It was…?" James prompted.

Harry sucked in his breath quickly and let it out. "Dragons," he supplied.

"Dragons," James repeated flatly.

"Yes. Dragons," Harry confirmed.

"Dragons," James repeated again.

"Yes…?"

"Are you telling me that Albus Dumbledore let four teenagers face a _dragon_?! Just for an event?!"

"Four dragons," Harry corrected. "And no one underage, under the age of seventeen, was supposed to be in the tournament in the first place."

"So you're telling me that Albus Dumbledore let _four teenagers_, one underage, face _four dragons?!_"

"It wasn't like defeating them or anything," Harry was quick to add. "We just had to… get past them."

"Get past a dragon."

"Yeah. One dragon for each champion. We had to collect a golden egg that would give us the clue to the second task."

James made a note to have a _very_ strict talk with the esteemed headmaster later on.

"How did you get past the dragon, then?"

"I flew past it. We were only allowed our wand, but I summoned my Firebolt."

"You _flew _past a _dragon_?!"

"Yeah…?"

James stared in shock at his son. Harry didn't even seem to realize how amazing this was.

James shook his head. "And what as the second task?"

"Oh. We had to retrieve someone very dear to us, or something like that, from the bottom of the lake. We had to fight off grindylows and merpeople. I had to get Ron, Krum had to get Hermione, Fleur had to get her sister, and Cedric had to get his girlfriend, Cho Chang."

James noticed that Harry's face colored slightly when he said this, and he made another mental note to ask him just exactly what was going on between him and Cedric Diggory's girlfriend… later. After he finished hearing his son's tale.

"Dumbledore put people in the _bottom of the lake _for the champions to _retrieve, _while fighting off _grindylows _and _merpeople_?!" James shook his head. "I'm really beginning to think he's gone mad in his old age."

Harry smiled bitterly. "Perhaps."

"So…" this was the one thing James was both anticipating and dreading. "The third task."

"The third task," Harry repeated flatly.

James decided to get straight to the point and be blunt. "So… what happened?"

Harry flinched, like James had struck him, but answered anyway. "We had to get through a maze to the center, where the Triwizard Cup was. Whoever got there first would win."

"And…?"

"Fleur got Stunned, and Krum attacked Cedric with the Cruciatus"—he ignored James's shout of protest—"but it turned out he was under the Imperius, anyway, and so it was just Cedric and me."

Here Harry's voice began wavering slightly. "We both got to the center of the maze, and I told him to take the Cup, and he said I should take it instead, and then we both agreed to take it together, since it would still be a Hogwarts win, only it turned out to be a Portkey. A Portkey to a graveyard."

The "dread" part of the way James was feeling about his son finally telling him everything was overshadowing the "anticipation" part. "Does this have anything to do with the person who put your name in the Goblet of Fire?"

"Yes."

"Slimy bastard. Okay, continue."

Harry gave his father a weird look, but complied with the request. "Wormtail was there."

James let out a low growl at the name. "When I get my hands on him…"

"You'll rip him to shreds, but only until right after you send him to Azkaban and get him the Dementor's Kiss, so Sirius will be freed. I know, I know," Harry said, in an almost bored tone of voice.

It was actually quite scary how much Harry seemed to know James, even though they had barely known each other for, like, a week. It was also quite scary how Harry's emotions kept pivoting between nervous (about telling his father about the third task) and almost exasperated.

"And then…?"

Harry's face clouded over, and his voice was flat when he spoke, like he was pushing all the emotions out. "He killed Cedric. That's what 'Kill the spare' means. Voldemort told Wormtail to kill Cedric. And he did."

James just stared at Harry in shock, unable to comprehend the words that had just come out of Harry's mouth. That wasn't possible. It simply wasn't possible. _Was_ it?

Harry continued on like the things he had just said meant nothing to him, but James could tell it did. He could tell Harry was fighting to keep his voice neutral.

"Then Wormtail tied me to a gravestone. Voldemort's dead father."

James felt his jaw hanging open. He was now physically incapable of saying anything. A little part of him in the back of his brain was saying, _No __wonder__ everyone was making such a big deal about Harry's years at Hogwarts! In fact, they were kinda just making a whole lotta understatements about the whole thing._

Harry continued on. "He performed some ritual that would give Voldemort his body back. Bone of the father—Voldemort's father—flesh of the servant—Wormtail cut off his hand" (James cringed at the horrific mental image these uttered words gave him) "and blood of the enemy—Wormtail took a knife and cut me."

James let out a low growl. It was one thing for Wormtail to betray him—his friends—to Voldemort, the very cause they had all been fighting against. This was bad enough. Then he got Lily killed. Even worse. Sent Sirius to Azkaban. Just as terrible. But _cutting his son_?! This was unacceptable.

_I swear, _James vowed to himself, _if I ever get my hands on the little rat, things will not be pretty._

Harry was watching him worriedly, like he was afraid James was preparing to jump up and declare that he was going out to hunt for Wormtail right this very minute.

James swallowed. "We'll, er, talk about that part later. Go on."

Harry blinked slowly. "Then Voldemort came out of the cauldron. And he called his Death Eaters. They all came and he gave Wormtail a silver hand to replace the one he cut off. And he started bragging about how great and mighty and powerful he was before he gave me back my wand and said we were going to duel."

James blinked at the very accurate description of Voldemort's over-inflated ego, not unlike one 1977 Head Boy's… (coughcough)

"So, er, we dueled. And then he sent out a Killing Curse, and I sent out an _Expelliarmus, _and, well, the wands connected."

"The wands… connected?"

"Yeah. Voldemort's wand and mine are brothers. So, er, it connected. And _Priori Incantatem _happened."

Before James could process this bit of information thoroughly, Harry added, "And you and Mum came out of Voldemort's wand," way too casually.

James nearly fell off the edge of the bed in shock. "Excuse me?" he sputtered.

"You and Mum came out of Voldemort's wand," Harry repeated.

"But… but _how_?"

"The… ghosts, or something like that, of everyone he killed came out of his wand. There was a Muggle man, some woman called Bertha Jorkins, Cedric, you, and Mum."

"…" James couldn't find the right words to use. "…Bertha _Jorkins_??"

Bertha Jorkins had been in the year below the Marauders at school. She was a nosy, gossipy Hufflepuff who loved to spread rumors. The Marauders had played too many pranks to count on her, although James was beginning to regret it a bit.

"Yeah. And you and Mum told me to hold on before breaking the connection, and Cedric asked me to bring his body back to his parents. And the Triwizard Cup was a Portkey back to the school. And basically, I escaped. Went back to Hogwarts."

James opened his mouth, but when Harry continued speaking he shut it again. "And when I got back to Hogwarts, it turned out Mad-Eye Moody was the one who put my name in the Goblet of Fire."

James felt his jaw drop. "Mad-Eye Moody?! The famous paranoid Auror?!"

"Yeah. Only it was actually a Death Eater—Barty Crouch Jr.—disguised as him."

"But… but… wasn't he dead?"

"Not really. He faked his own death. It was actually his mother under the Polyjuice Potion. And he really was a Death Eater. The real Moody was locked in his own trunk. At Hogwarts, too."

"But…"

James had a sinking feeling that this wasn't even the least of Harry's, er, adventures.

"But… what else happened? When you were in second year and all that?"

Harry laughed without humor. "You're not going to like it."

No, James didn't think he would. But he had to know anyway.

"Tell me."

So Harry did.

* * *

**A/N: **The ending scene sucked to the high heavens, around the earth, and back. I'm awful at writing romance or emotion. Light comedy is more my thing. 

Please review. I swear I won't take like over three months to update again. I only checked it over once, in a rush, so I'm sorry if there are mistakes. I'll look over it more thoroughly again some other time. Please tell me if you spot a mistake. (You don't have to, of course…)


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